


Making Amends

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Series: Broken Glass [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, All characters are of age in the UK, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Harry, Canon Het Relationship, Crushes, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, First Time, Half-Blood Prince AU, Hate Sex, Het, Het and Slash, Horny Teenagers, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulative Behaviour, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Stalking, Stress Relief, Top Draco, Truth Serum, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Vaginal Sex, Veritaserum, Voyeurism, poor decision making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nearly killing him, Harry makes it up to Malfoy in a way neither of them expected; though that's not going to stop either of them from milking the opportunity for all that it's worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Disclaimed.  
> -  
> This has not been Beta'd or Brit-picked. If you see any mistakes, please tell me so I can fix it. - - - 
> 
> So I fucked up my dates, apparently. According to [HPL](http://www.hp-lexicon.org/about/books/hbp/rg-hbp24.html#Timeline), the Sectumsempra episode took place on a THURSDAY, not a Tuesday as I originally had though, so I'm placing it around... the 8th of May 1997. [Harry Potter Wiki](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Inter-House_Quidditch_Cup) says that the Inter-House Cup game takes place on the 3rd or 4th weekend in may, but I'm making it the second, because, it makes more sense for the timeline to have the game be held on the upcoming Saturday, so unless you can tell me EXACTLY what date the game was held, I'm going with the 10th of May, '97.  
> So, Timeline:  
> Chp 1: 5 days after Sectumsempra - Tue, 13/05/97  
> Chp 2: 3 days later - Fri, 15/05/97  
> Chp 3: The next day - Sat, 16/05/97  
> Chp 4 & 5: Next Saturday, 24/05/97  
> Chp 6: The next day - Sun, 25/05/97  
> Chp 7: Next Saturday, 31/05/97  
> Chp 8: Next Saturday, 07/06/97 --two days after Draco's 17th birthday! (June 5)  
> Chp 9: Next Saturday, 14/06/97  
> Chp 10: Next Saturday, 21/06/97 --Dumbledore's death. 
> 
> If you notice any discrepancies, please let me know :)
> 
> WARNING: There will be HET in this fic. Sorry. I don't like it either.

It's been a week.

 

It's been a week and he can't stop thinking about it. About the fight. About that fucking _book_. About Ginny in the Room of Hidden Things. That kiss... 

 

About Malfoy.

 

About the fact that he was crying (and how had Harry forgotten he was  _crying_ ?). That he was about to  _Crucio_ him. That he almost  _died._

 

God, he almost killed Draco Malfoy. He almost  _killed_ Draco Malfoy. Yes, he hates the bastard. Yes, he wishes all sorts of unpleasantness and pain upon the arsehole, but not death. Never death. Entirely too many people have died because of Harry already, and for one to be by his own hand because of his own ignorance and stupidity – in a school fight! 

 

This war is fucking with his head. Not like it wasn't already all he thought about. Not like it wasn't already his entire reason for existing in the first place, but-

 

He can't do all of this on his own. Where the fuck are the adults who are supposed to know what they're doing? These people can't put all this responsibility on him and expect him to handle it.  _He_ needs to stop thinking he can handle everything by himself. Shouldn't he have learnt this lesson already with Sirius? 

 

God, but he almost did the same fucking thing, didn't he? Always thinking he knows better, that he can handle it when he  _can't!_ He can't, he can't, and – 

 

Fuck there was a lot of blood, and his  _face-_ He's been replaying that picture over and over in his mind for the last week, like some kind of sick wizarding photograph, and every morning he wakes up with the sound of Draco Malfoy's agonized crying echoing in his ears. He hasn't slept since it happened. 

 

He's tried. God and Merlin know he's tried. Tried to rationalize that he didn't mean to do that much damage, that it was in self defence anyway, that it wasn't his fault. Tried to bury the memory, focus on something else; on Ginny. Beautiful, lovely, wonderful Ginny. On the feel of her lips against his own. So sweet. So perfect. And she was so close and warm; much better than that mess with Cho. Even the memory of Ginny's red hair and soft pale skin though, doesn't help him forget because in his mind that hair turns platinum blonde and the red is entirely unnatural, and that skin is far too pale; deathly pale, and blue eyes turn to pained silver, and-

 

This is driving him mad. He needs to talk to Malfoy.

 

*

 

After not nearly enough sleep, and a day spent obsessively tracking Malfoy all over the castle (thankfully this wasn't much different from any other time, so no one questioned him about it), Harry finally managed to find Malfoy on his own.

 

Well. “Find.” It was after hours, Ron and Hermione out doing their rounds as prefects, and Harry was discreetly studying the Map, when he saw the Slytherin make his way out of the dungeons alone. Seizing his chance, Harry quickly donned his invisibility cloak, and tracked the moving dot labelled “Draco Malfoy” all the way to the Prefect's bathroom.

 

Malfoy had just gone in a couple minutes before, and Harry almost followed him in before he was forcibly struck with the memory of the _last_ time he'd barged in on Malfoy in a bathroom. Harry reared back from the heavy, wooden door, stricken and resolved to simply wait outside until he was finished.

 

Mumbling out a hastened “Mischief managed”, Harry folded the map up and anxiously began to pace back and forth in front of the door. More than once he nearly gave up on the endeavour altogether and tried to flee, but not half way down the hall, he'd berate himself for his decidedly un-Gryffindor cowardice, and turn back around. Eventually he figured it would be better if he sat down. Probably seem less antagonistic anyway, which would be a good thing, considering.

 

Huffing, Harry sat impatiently against the wall facing the bathroom, tapping his fingers against his trouser-clad knees. As his knuckles grazed the sleek material of his cloak for the eighth time, Harry remembered the last time Malfoy had caught him skulking invisibly, and ripped the offending cloth off his head, bundling it up in his lap.

 

 _'Good Lord,'_ he thought fretfully, _'is there anything that won't start a duel between us?'_ Then he remembered that this was Draco Malfoy he was talking about, and no, there wasn't. In fact, he was almost guaranteed to return to the tower covered in his own blood again, if he returned at all, and Malfoy didn't AK him on sight. Maybe he should have warned his friends. Maybe he should have written out a Will beforehand. Maybe he should have left his wand back in his dorm- but no, Malfoy will probably start a fight, and Harry will need to be prepared to defend himself. Non-lethal defence of course. Spells he knows. And has used before. On second thought, maybe he should just cast a quick _Expelliarmus_ right at the get-go, nip the impending attack in the bud- but no, that'll just put Malfoy on the defensive, and make him think that Harry's come to start a fight with _him_ so-

 

Caught up in his considerations, worrying his cloak in his clenched fists, Harry actually missed the door opening silently (it must have been enchanted, there's no way a door that big would be so quiet). It wasn't actually until he heard Malfoy swear out in surprise that he realized that his moment was upon him.

 

“Shit!” he burst out, stumbling to his feet and hurriedly trying to organize his burdens in order to spread his arms in what was hopefully a non-threatening display, while Malfoy grappled for his wand.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?!” Malfoy snarled, holding his wand out defensively. Harry noticed he was wearing a Slytherin Prefect bath robe open to reveal black silk pyjamas, which really didn't surprise Harry in the least, except that it was so informal that for a moment, he forgot what he was going to say.

 

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out after hours!” Malfoy declared, snapping Harry out of his observation. The brunet made a face somewhere between a wince, a frown, and a scowl, which probably didn't look very attractive. “Now I'll ask again, Potter: What the fuck do you think you're doing here? Did you come to finish the job, is that it?”

 

“No!” Harry actually paled at that, though he really should have expected it. “No, Malfoy I came to apologise!” He extended his arm placatingly, wincing when Malfoy flinched. “Please, just put down your wand, Christ, I'm not here to attack you. I swear, I'm just here to talk.”

 

The Slytherin eyed him warily for a moment before slowly lowering his wand. Harry let out a relieved breath.

 

“Talk?” he asked disbelievingly. “You actually came here to _apologise_? To _me_.” He gave a derisive snort. “Forgive me if I don't believe you.” Even still, he made no move to raise his wand again, instead crossing his arms defensively across his chest and leaning back away from Harry, against the door frame.

 

Sighing through his nose, Harry shuffled his cloak to one arm, and slowly, deliberately, slid his wand into the back pocket of his trousers, watching as Malfoy tracked his movements with narrowed, silver eyes. Hugging his cloak to his chest, he looked back at Malfoy's pale, thin face, noting as if for the first time, how unwell the other boy appeared. He'd lost half a stone this year, at least, and his face seemed even pointier than usual, add to that the fact that his normally pale skin looked downright pasty, and the obvious bruises under his eyes which couldn't be recent given how profound they were (maybe he'd been using glamours?). This image culminating with the untreated hair and pyjama-clad body, and Malfoy looked positively vulnerable. Well, that at least made Harry's task easier.

 

“Look, Malfoy,” he started, “I really am sorry about what happened. I know it's no excuse, but I honestly didn't know what that spell did. I never meant to hurt you like that.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Harry's eyes snapped up from where he had been tracing the lines of stone on the floor. He opened his mouth to reply, but Malfoy cut him off.

 

“That was dark magic, Potter. I know you don't understand magical theory because you were raised by muggles, and you rely on Granger to know everything for you, but dark magic requires _intent_. As in when you perform a spell, you have to mean it. You don't just _accidentally_ do dark magic, you idiot. If a spell is meant to kill, you need to be willing kill. If a spell is meant to _torture_ you need to be meaning that, as well. You may not have meant to _do_ what that spell _did_ , but you had the gist of it well enough, so don't you fucking stand there like the self righteous icon of Gryffindor Morality that everyone seems to think you are, and tell me you 'didn't mean to hurt me', because if you didn't mean it, it wouldn't have fucking happened!” Malfoy was panting now, furious with his fists clenched and knuckles white; Harry was surprised to see that he hadn't broken his wand.

 

Thinning his lips, Harry raised his hand, raking it through his messy curls. “Alright, yeah. I _did_ mean to hurt you. The spell said it was meant for an 'enemy', and you were one. I _didn't_ mean to wound you – I mean, you nearly _died_ , Malfoy! I didn't want to _kill_ you! Incapacitate you, yeah, but not _that_! Not-” He cut himself off, and inhaled sharply through his nose. “God, Malfoy, seeing you like that was just... I'm sorry.” He met the blond's molten gaze, and earnestly pleaded with him to understand that Harry was _sorry._

 

“I feel... I feel bloody awful about all of this Malfoy. I can't get it out of my head. I want to make it up to you, somehow. Please, is there anything I can do that could make up for this? Within reason, I mean, I can't...” he trailed off, unsure. He hadn't actually meant to say that, but what else was he supposed to do? Just saying 'sorry' seemed so fucking inadequate.

 

Malfoy scoffed. “Can you 'do something' for me? What can you possibly have to offer me that can make up for trying to killing me? What the fuck do you expect, Potter? What, do you intend to just blow me or something and call it even?”

 

Harry sucked in a breath, blinking wide-eyed. _'What?...'_

 

For a moment Harry just stared, brows creased, unthinking. After almost half a minute had gone by, Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and flung his arm out in an impatient gesture. “Well, Potter?”

 

Harry gulped. “Is that what you want?” he asked in a small voice.

 

The other boy narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Is _what_ what I want? I didn't _say_ anyth-” His eyes widened in clarity, “Do I want a blow job, you mean? No, that was sarcasm, Potter, I didn't actually ask you to suck my bloody cock. _Merlin.”_

 

Harry felt his face heat in realisation, “Oh,” he said unintelligently, mentally scolding himself for taking the Slytherin seriously.

 

Malfoy didn't let him off so easily, though, having caught on to Harry's mistake.

 

“You thought I was being serious?”  
  


The Gryffindor huffed, frustrated, and turned away, “Piss off, Malfoy, forget it.”

 

Malfoy barked a sharp laugh, though, and didn't. “You were actually offering to give me a blow job to make it up to me.” His grey eyes shone in disbelief, and a cruel smile twisted his lips.

 

“How am I supposed to know if you were being serious or not?” Harry snapped. “Look, it was stupid, I was just feeling really guilty, and I wanted to get this off my chest. It's fine, whatever. I made my apology, I said my piece, I give up.”

 

Face flaming, shoulders pulled up to his ears, Harry tightened his hold on his cloak, and twisted sharply in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

 

Before he could make (a brisk walk, not a run!) for it, however, he felt long, cold fingers, wrapping themselves around the wrist of his free hand.

 

“I accept.”

 

What?

 

Harry turned around so fast he got whip lash, arm twisting awkwardly in the other boy's firm hold. “ _What?_ ”

 

Malfoy looked at him strangely, and licked his lips, never letting go of Harry's wrist, as if to make sure he wouldn't flee (which, to be fair, he probably would have).

 

“I accept your offer.”

 

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Harry looked around as if to find Crabbe and Goyle lurking around with a video camera (did wizards even have film?). “Wh- Um. What? You- _What?_ You- You- you... want me to... to...” he stuttered, unable to get the words out, settling for looking vaguely horrified in the direction of Malfoy's silken crotch.

 

“Suck me off, yes.” And there was a distinctly mocking look to his eyes now, which were twinkling in amusement, mixed with some other emotion Harry couldn't decipher. “You give me one blow job, and we're even. Your guilt assuaged, justice delivered, compensation made; we can go back to hating each other like before, no harm done. Deal?”

 

Harry could see the challenge in his eyes. The silent 'Scared, Potter?' echoing between them, as clear as if he'd said it out loud. This time, he knew Malfoy was being serious. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly (he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing). “Fine.”

 

*

 

Oh, Hecate, Mother of Magic, was this actually happening?

 

Draco stared at Potter's face in wonder for a moment. Was he really about to get sucked off by the Boy-Who-Lived? Was this actually his life?

 

Yes. Yes it was.

 

Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on Potter's thin wrist, turning to look down the hallway in case any well-meaning prefects came by. Satisfied that they were alone, Draco smirked and nodded toward the still-open door to the Prefect's bathroom. “C'mon, Potter, in here.”

 

Without waiting, Draco tugged the shorter boy along behind him, flicking his wand to close and lock the door behind them. Wouldn't do to have Weasley and Granger come barging in and interrupting them midway through (Merlin knows they wouldn't understand).

 

Once secure in their privacy, Draco finally let the Gryffindor go. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tapped his wand against his thigh. How to go about doing this. It was one thing to talk about it, but quite another to actually have a willing Harry Potter at his mercy. (Well. 'Willing'.) Steeling himself, he nodded, walked around Potter so he could stand braced against the bathroom wall, tucked the open-folds of his dressing gown behind him, and gestured to the floor at his feet. “Alright, Potter. Go on and kneel just there.” The Gryffindor hesitated, and Draco cast a cushioning charm on the stone, raising his eyebrows the the brunet when he was done.

 

Potter swallowed audibly, glancing back and forth between Draco's face and the floor, before slowly approaching and folding up his bloody impossible cloak to lay between Draco's feet. Potter looked at him, green eyes glowing with his unspoken challenge, and knelt.

 

Oh, this is going to be fun.

 

Draco smirked and slowly thumbed down his sleep-pants, leaving them bunched around his thighs, freeing his half-hard cock.

 

The brunet gasped, and Draco imagined that his ears, hidden beneath his curls, were burning. Shamed and intimidated or not, however, he also saw how the boy's eyes darkened and his mouth fell open. He was scared, yes, but it was obvious that he wanted it.

 

Draco wondered if he was aware of that, or if he was just as oblivious as he was about everything else about himself. (Probably the latter.)

 

As Potter pushed his ridiculous glasses up his nose, Draco slipped his wand behind his ear and lowered his hand to grip his- ahem- _other_ wand.

 

Fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, he slowly stroked his thickening length, enjoying Potter's enraptured expression as he pulled on the hood of his foreskin to reveal the pink mushroomed head beneath. Draco didn't hurry, was content to take his time and let his reluctant lover get a good look at what he would soon be taking, get him gagging for it. The sight of those AK-green eyes staring enthralled at his cock, of that pink tongue wetting those soft, dry lips, eager to get a taste of what Draco was teasing him with... The blond found himself fully erect rather quickly.

 

As his cock jutted out out in front of him, he saw Potter make a little aborted jerk in his direction and decided it was time to get to the fun part.

 

*

 

Harry had no idea how he had gotten here.

 

Nowhere is his plan to apologise to Malfoy did sucking him off ever make an appearance.

 

What was he even supposed to do?

 

He'd seen pictures – wizarding photographs in dirty magazines. He'd heard stories from Seamus who was openly bisexual, but even still. Even still, Harry had never really _looked_ at another bloke's bits. Had never had anyone else near his own. He had no idea what he was actually supposed to do with his mouth, or- or-

 

Harry wasn't gay.

 

At least, he didn't think so.

 

But.

 

Staring at Malfoy's long, thick cock which looked so _different_ from Harry's own – pale and pink where Harry's own was dark and red at the tip, longer than Harry's, though near about the same thickness, with a prominent, pulsing vein. It stood out away from the boy's body, curving up toward the ceiling, with a thatch of straight fair hair at the base which hid nothing of the firm bollocks hanging tight between pale thighs. He wondered if the wispy strands continued up Malfoy's stomach under the black silk night shirt. He wondered if this hair shone like the hair on Malfoy's head when it was in the Sun.

 

He licked his lips and wondered what it tasted like. Harry almost leaned forward to find out, but stopped himself, clenching his fists.

 

Suddenly he saw Malfoy's left hand dart forward, and almost flinched when long fingers wound through his hair and jerked his head nearer to Malfoy's groin. Right hand gripping his base, fingers toying with his bollocks, left guiding Harry _right there_.

 

“Alright, Potter. I'll tell you what to do, so you needn't worry. For now, I just want you to lick me. Get my cock nice and wet for me. Go on.” He sounded a little breathless now, which made Harry feel a little better.

 

Another soft tug, and Malfoy's prick was resting against his cheek, to the left of his nose. Harry inhaled, smelling the sharp scent of arousal cutting through the lingering traces of sweet soap. He licked his lips again, then turned his head and set his tongue on the pale flesh resting there.

 

Harry looked to the blond for reassurance, then tentatively reached up to hold the hard organ in his hand as he bent his head and followed that throbbing vein with his tongue.

 

Immediately Malfoy groaned, hips jerking forward even as his head leant back. Feeling his confidence boosted, Harry pressed firmer with his tongue, still licking from base to tip in broad swipes. Malfoy removed his hand, placing it with its partner on Harry's head and giving him free reign to manipulate the appendage to his liking.

 

Harry used his hand to stroke and spread the slickness along Malfoy's shaft, as he placed wet kisses all along the base, massaging the flesh with his tongue, nose buried in golden hair.

 

Apple scented soap. Musk. Sex. Harry had never smelled a boy before. Or, he had never really noticed anyway, apart from quidditch sweat and BO and the general odour that lingers in a boys toilet or dormitory, which really was nothing like this at all. He recalled Ginny smelling vaguely floral. He wondered if she would smell similar between her legs. If she would smell as deep, if he would be able to taste her on his tongue with every inhale. If her wet slick would taste anything like the salty, woody flavour on his tongue now.

 

His eyes were half-lidded as he explored, guiding the rigid sex to his lips so Harry could lick at the precome beading at the pink tip. The taste was familiar, not so different from his own.

 

Malfoy gasped and the hand in Harry's hair squeezed causing him to wince a little and look up.

 

“Ah! Alright that's... good. Good.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to clear it. “Now I want you to open your mouth wide and cover your teeth with your lips like this,” he showed Harry what to do, then, setting the head of his cock at Harry's lips, he gently moved him down, pushing the brunet to take it in. He didn't go very deep, thankfully, but rather than let Harry adjust to the feeling of the weight on his tongue, he tugged at his curls and pulled him back up, starting a slow rhythm, leaving Harry to adjust his mouth and his breathing in order to keep up.

 

Shuffling closer on his knees, Harry set his hands on Malfoy's naked, jutting hips and closed his eyes to Malfoy's slow rocking.

 

“Ohh... Merlin. I knew you'd look good like this, Potter- ungh!” he stopped himself from thrusting his hips, instead letting one hand wander to the back of Harry's neck, fingers petting the soft, damp skin there. “Okay, now try to use your tongue and suck a bit- kinda- uhhhm- hollow out your cheeks and make some- mmm- suction.”

 

Harry hummed his affirmation and was rewarded with a deep, shuddering gasp. Immediately he tried to do as Malfoy told him, hollowing his cheeks and sliding his tongue along the hard sex as Malfoy guided him deeper. Harry tried to keep his mouth and throat opened and relaxed, but still he gagged when the tip grazed the back of his tongue. Malfoy pet his hair in apology, and Harry squeezed the pale hips with his fingers, determinedly moving forward to take him as deep as he could.

 

The Slytherin was continually making loud moans and groans and harsh gasps and pants, and Harry found the noises spurred him on. Draco had stopped guiding him now, and Harry sped his pace, taking Draco's cock almost to the root as he tried to keep up the manoeuvres that he had been taught. One hand slipped down to play with Draco's bollocks as he'd seen the other boy do earlier, and Draco couldn't stop himself from jerking forward, thrusting into the hot, wet mouth on his sex.

 

“Ohhh, yeah, Potter that's it, Luv, just like that,” he cooed mindlessly as he felt his balls draw tight. “Mmmmmm.... gonna come...” he warned, and Harry obligingly took his lips away. Draco looked down to see Harry gazing up at him with his pupils blown, rimmed with brilliant green, his lips bruised and wet with spittle still connected to the tip of his cock, arousal colouring his pale cheeks, glasses sliding down his sweat-slick nose, cock tented in his trousers, and Draco couldn't help but come.

 

Biting his lip and nearly snarling, Draco took his pleasure in long, pulsing waves, only barely having the presence of mind to aim for Potter's stupid glasses.

 

Harry flinched as the warm wetness hit his face, splashing against his lips and cheek, then up across his glasses, causing him to scowl.

 

As Harry sat confused and aroused, hair a mess, and covered in cum, Draco muttered a cleaning charm and set himself to rights. The Gryffindor moved to wipe the fluid from his face, but Draco caught him once again by the wrist, and hauled him up. Taking Harry's chin in hand, Draco turned his head and licked a swipe along Harry's cheek, tasting salty skin mixed with his own come.

 

“Thanks Potter,” he said in a surprisingly sincere tone. “I really needed that. Consider yourself forgiven.” Then, with a sharp grin, he reached down and squeezed Harry's neglected erection through his trousers, surprising Harry into an orgasm of his own.

 

Crying out, Harry's legs gave way and he slid back onto the floor.

 

As he sat in a heap on the stone coming down from his unexpected climax, come cooling rapidly in his pants, he realised that Malfoy was gone.

 

What the hell just happened?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that according to my Timeline, it hasn't actually been a week, but Harry's distraught and 4 or 5 days is a long time to hold onto that kind of guilt. 
> 
> Because some people, myself included, prefer to use the 2007 calendar, and because I'm not quite sure whether the sequels will take place in the 90's or in the 2000's, the timeline for this fic in 2007 is as follows (Note, that it pushes all my chapter dates back from Saturdays to Fridays, not that it makes any difference in context) -   
> Sectumsempra: Thurs, 10/05/07  
> Inter-House Quidditch Cup: Sat, 12/05/07  
> Chp 1: 4 days after Sectumsempra - Mon, 14/05/07  
> Chp 2: 3 days later - Thur, 17/05/07  
> Chp 3: The next day - Fri, 18/05/07  
> Chp 4 & 5: The next Friday, 25/05/07  
> Chp 6: The next day - Sat, 26/05/07  
> Chp 7: Next Friday, 01/06/07  
> Chp 8: Next Friday, 08/06/07 --three days after Draco's 17th birthday! (June 5)  
> Chp 9: Next Friday, 15/06/07  
> Chp 10: Next Thursday, 21/06/07 --Dumbledore's Death (Because I want it to still be Midsummer)


	2. Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal gets made, someone may or may not have an ulterior motive, but it's unclear precisely who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Chapter unedited, sorry if it's a little rough - I'll probably revise it a little tomorrow, otherwise, just let me know if there's something needs fixing/britpicking]]
> 
> Okay so first of all- the fact that I got this up in less than a year is something you all should be proud of, because this never happens. The fact that I even HAVE a chapter 2 is miraculous in and of itself. 
> 
> Second- this chapter was split in half so that I could get you all a speedily posted chapter 3, so this and the next probably will be a little bit shorter than I originally intended but whatever. Remember: this story will be MOSTLY porn, so be forewarned for the next several chapters. 
> 
> Third- Warning: Draco is incredibly sweary, manipulative, and partakes in some unhealthy habits as a means of stress-relief. I'm sorry if that somehow offends you, that's just the characterization that I am going with. 
> 
> ~This chapter and the next, which I intend to get up tomorrow, hopefully, are specifically for Sarah, so I hope she enjoys, if she's still following :D

He's never going to fix this fucking cabinet.

 

The progress he's made over the past nine months has been, frankly, pathetic. And now with the deadline looming, Draco felt like he was going to lose his fucking mind.

 

Not that it mattered, since he was going to die anyway.

 

He couldn't tell if that was a positive or a negative at this point.

 

The unexpected stress-relief afforded him by Potter lasted long enough for him to get a full night's sleep (for the first time in somewhere around a year, probably), but not enough to affect his productivity, unfortunately.

 

So here he was, no closer repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, feeling the edge of panic crowd his mind.

 

He took a breath. Held it. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw and generally just tried not to burst into tears like an untried Hufflepuff before he was forced to breathe again.

 

He needs a break.

 

Taking another fortifying breath, he leaned back and looked around the Room. Filled to the brink with things ostensibly worth hiding, Draco figured there was probably something here to calm his nerves. With that thought, he stood, glanced back toward the cabinet as if to ensure it didn't disappear, and finally set off in search of contraband.

 

For several minutes, he just meandered around the room filtering through random detritus. Potions textbook from approximately the 1970's, a muggle-made wrist watch, a Rememberall, a porcelain doll, an umbrella – he took that back, he'd _yet_ to find anything worth hiding in this Room of Hidden Things. Do people actually _hide_ things here, or did they just show up when they get lost?

 

Finally, he smelled the vague, lingering scent of tobacco on what looked like a turn-of-the-century music box. Opening the box, he found it hollowed, the musical machinations removed decades ago and at some point replaced with what looked like about a dozen thin, hand-rolled cigarettes. Convenient, since Draco had never actually rolled a cigarette himself before (hadn't even  _smoked_ before, actually, but if there was ever a time to pick up the habit...). He hoped the tobacco was still good, though he knew it had probably gone off in the unknown number of years since the music box's previous owner had rolled these little beauties. Oh well, maybe he could psych himself up enough that he could fool himself into at least thinking the nicotine still had effect. 

 

Draco looked up, intending to locate himself a chair someone, somewhen might have felt the need to hide away, when suddenly he saw the room around him shimmer away. The walls closed in and the hidden things disappeared, replaced with rich, wooden walls and a cosy looking chaise and in-table, complete with lamp, a heavily draped (and utterly implausible) window, and a hanging chandelier. For a second he panicked, fearing he had accidentally irrevocably lost the Vanishing Cabinet before he remembered that he could simply Require the Room of Hidden Things again when he needed it.

 

Having successfully staved off a panic attack and finding himself pleased with his cosy new surroundings, Draco inelegantly flopped onto the chaise. He set the music box on the in-table and held a cigarette to his lips. It took a moment to get himself appropriately prepared, mentally, before he tapped his wand to the twisted tip and set it ablaze. Draco inhaled then immediately started coughing as the smoke hit his lungs. He glared at the cigarette in betrayal before trying again, barely breathing it in. It still irritated his throat, and he coughed once, but it was better. It was probably the placebo-effect, but he really was feeling much calmer, now. 

 

-

 

“Seriously, Harry, leave Malfoy alone.”

 

Harry startled, tearing his eyes from the Slytherin table and back to Hermione who was glaring at him in exasperation. Even Ron looked wearily at him, lips thinned, hunched as if trying to avoid being seen in case it meant having to voice his opinion on the matter.

 

“I haven't done anything!” he protested. He looked to Ginny, but her concern proved she wasn't on his side, either. She laid a hand on his thigh, but the comfort she intended only irritated him.

 

“Just ignore him, Harry. I don't want you two to end up duelling again,” she implored. He huffed and glared down at his dinner, clenching his jaw. He didn't bother shrugging her off or protesting, since he doubted anyone would believe him if he said his observation was harmless.

 

Truth be told, he was just lost in thought; he hadn't even realised he was staring (though he couldn't deny he was _thinking_ about the other boy; it came with looking at him, and the staring was a habit at this point).

 

He just...

 

It had been a few days since his... _thing_ with Malfoy, and he couldn't put it out of his mind. Not the actual _act_ , rather the fact that Malfoy himself had been so _civil_. He hadn't tried to kill him, which Harry admit was unexpected (he wouldn't have even blamed him much if he had tried). He didn't start an argument. He wasn't even overly forceful! It was the least antagonistic interaction he had ever had with Draco Malfoy in all the time he'd known the boy.

 

He couldn't help but think that maybe Malfoy wasn't as evil as he'd previously thought. After all, it certainly didn't look like he was very _happy_ being a Death Eater. If Draco Malfoy could _fraternise with the enemy_ without either of them trying to kill each other, maybe Harry stood a chance at actually getting relevant information from him. Maybe he could convince the Slytherin to defect; join Harry on the Light side. Maybe they could even be _friends!_

 

First things first, though, he needed some information. He _had_ to know what Draco was up to, what it had to do with Katie. He needed to find out what Voldemort had planned, so he could figure out what to do to stop it. He wanted to know why Malfoy took the Mark to begin with.

 

He had to get Malfoy alone again so they could talk.

 

-

 

It took several more days of careful reconnaissance ( _not_ stalking) before Harry caught the blond alone. It was a little before dinner, and the other was walking into the empty quidditch supply shed, probably getting ready for some solo-flying around the pitch.

 

Harry looked around to make sure they were alone then whipped off his cloak, running to follow his rival into the rickety building.

 

“Draco!” he called quietly as he stole inside.

 

Draco whipped around and swore, combing his fingers through his hair. “Salazar's bollocks, Potter, what do you want now?!”

 

Harry wrapped his arms around himself defensively, cloak hung over his arm. “I wanted to talk to you.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “We don't have anything more to talk about, Potter. We've discussed all we needed to discuss. Go away. And quit stalking me, it's creepy.” Broom in hand, the Slytherin stalked forward, shoulder crashing harshy against Harry's own as he brushed passed him. Undeterred, Harry quickly turned and reached out with seeker's reflexes to grab at the other boy's bony shoulder.

 

“Wait!” he pleaded, though Draco harshly shrugged him off. Before he could tell him to piss off again, he rushed on, “IneedtoknowwhatyouknowaboutVoldemort!”

 

Still.

 

Draco froze, face paling (Harry didn't even know he had colour to lose). Then he snarled and pushed forward, slamming Harry back into a rack of leathers. “Don't say that name!” he hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Now you listen here you ignorant little shit: We are not friends. We are not allies. I am not a member of your little fan-club, yipping at your heels, begging to be made use of. Don't fucking talk to me about the Dark Lord. In fact, don't talk to me at all. Stay out of my bloody business for once in your bleeding life, Potter, and leave me the fuck alone!”

 

Harry knew he was going to have bruises later, but he didn't care.

 

“Please, Malfoy! I just want to help! I know you're not happy like this; you're _hardly_ the poster-boy for a proud Death Eater. I mean, I've known you for six years, Malfoy, and you've never looked less than perfect, except this year you look like shit. Sickly, even. Anyone can tell that whatever they've got you doing, it's killing you! You can't actually be on his side, can you?” Harry paused, looking carefully at Draco who miraculously hadn't left yet, who actually appeared to be listening in spite of the painful looking grimace on his face. Harry continued. “Any information you can give me, any at all, would be helpful. Please.”

 

Draco exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and turned around, though he didn't leave. “Merlin, Potter, you can't just expect me to-”

 

“I'll blow you. Again. I'll suck your cock. It can be like a quid-pro-quo, thing! You give me information and I'll get you off.”

 

Draco looked at him over his shoulder, staring incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

Harry shook his head vigorously. “Serious as a heart attack.”

 

The blond turned slowly. “What about your girlfriend?” he asked suspiciously.

 

Harry shrugged, “It's just business. You do something for me, and I'll do something for you in return.” The other boy snorted and shook his head in bemused exasperation.

 

“You're actually serious about this.” Harry nodded.

 

“I'm not going to tell you about the Dark Lord,” Draco repeated firmly.

 

“What if I ask you questions about other things?” the Gryffindor negotiated.

 

“What other things?” Harry shrugged.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don't know what you're hoping to get out of this, Potter. I can't tell you anything important, I'm under oath.”

 

“Well other things, then! Lots of things are important, even if you don't think so, surely you could answer _some_ of my questions!”

 

“What, do you just want to ply me with Veritaserum and ask me questions?” The blond crossed his arms and leant back against the opposite wall, finally taking Harry seriously.

 

“Sure!” He agreed.

 

Apparently Malfoy didn't. “No, that's not fair. You can ask me one question. Per favour. I'll refuse to answer anything else, and I'll refuse if you ask anything too personal. And I get to use you however I want.”

 

The first part, Harry agreed sounded fair, though the last bit made him a little nervous. “Only once! I mean, as soon as you get off, it's over. And you have to stop if I say so.”

 

Draco huffed, bristling like an angry cat. “I'm not going to _rape_ you, Potter! And I'll make it good for you, too. I'm not going to go out of my way to hurt you or anything. I just want license to take what I need. Sometimes a blowie just doesn't cut it, you know?”

 

Harry blushed, twitching his fingers. Silver eyes narrowed, head cocking, “ _Do_ you know?”

 

The brunet scowled and rubbed his shoulder. “Does it matter?” he asked rhetorically.

 

“Bloody hell. Potter are you a _virgin_?”

 

His face was on fire, he could tell. “Why do you even care?!” he screamed, mortified, but he received no answer. Draco stared at him, mouth agape, face a mix of excitement and disbelief. “What?!”

 

Malfoy shook his head to clear it. “Okay,” he said simply.

 

“Okay, _what_ , Malfoy?!” Harry yelled, embarrassed and frustrated.

 

“'Okay', Potter! You've got a deal! I accept! You can ask me one question- per week!- under Veritaserum, and I get to use your body for any single sexual act I want, within reason and with your consent. Acceptable?”

 

Harry blinked. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Okay. That... sounds alright.” He honestly hadn't thought it was going to be that easy. He expected more fighting; possibly several days worth, under the guise of 'negotiations'.

 

“Good,” Draco said. “Meet me outside the Room of Requirement tomorrow at Midnight, and bring the Veritaserum. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to fly. Alone. If you bother me again until tomorrow night, I will not hesitate to hex you, I swear to Salazar. _Please_ piss off.” Before Harry could contest the plan or speak up in his own defence, Malfoy was gone.

 

Harry stared after him for a moment, then spun in a tight circle, pumping his fist. He _knew_ he'd be able to get through to him! 'Operation Malfoy' is a-go!

 


	3. Mutual Gratification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's 'business transaction' is going according to his plan, but so far Draco seems to be the one making the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, look at me keeping promises! 
> 
> I got up early this morning and only procrastinated for half an hour before I sat down and got this written. Feeling pretty productive so far today, I gotta tell ya. 
> 
> It was even longer than I was expecting. [Edit- I rewrote the last bit from Harry's POV]
> 
> Sorry if this whole scenario seems unrealistic, but I imagine this is the kind of crack-pot plan teenage boys come up with. Teenagers are not known for their great decision-making.

Harry lay quietly in bed, listening carefully. A nonverbal Tempus proved it to be 23:52, and thankfully the dorm was silent but for Seamus and Ron's loud snoring. Carefully, Harry climbed out of bed, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his bag, in which he had stashed a small bottle of Veritaserum that he'd pilfered from Snape's supply cubbard earlier that day.

 

He tip-toed across the room and slithered out the door and down the stairs. Luck was with him tonight, as he found the common room blissfully empty. He ran to the portrait and finally found himself in the corridor where he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Relaxing slightly, now that he was mostly in the clear, Harry made the journey to the Room of Requirement. It wasn't a terribly long one, actually, since it was on the same floor as the Gryffindor Common Room (he did not envy Malfoy the commute to and from the dungeons though). Rounding the corner of the seventh floor corridor, Harry found Malfoy sat on the floor beside a nondescript looking wooden door, studying what looked like an Arithmancy textbook (thank you, Hermione).

 

The blond looked up at the sound of his footsteps. “Oh good, you're here. Have you got the potion?”

 

Harry nodded, a little nervous, and reached into his bag. He had to dig around a moment, embarrassed and half fearing that he'd lost it somehow, but lo! He gripped it tight and pulled it out, waving it at Malfoy who had gathered his things in the mean time, and stood waiting patiently (probably). “Here!”

 

“Brilliant. Shall we?” Draco opened the door and gestured for Harry to lead the way inside. He could tell that Malfoy had simply required 'A place to talk', as it looked kind of like a lounge, or a therapist's office with light blue walls, two comfortable looking chairs, and a sofa. All it was missing was tea.

 

Harry took a seat on the right-most chair, and Draco the one sat opposite. They were facing each other, each angled slightly toward the sofa. Draco sat his bag down on the floor beside his feet as Harry had, and he could see that the Slytherin was still wearing his uniform, hair combed back carefully, making Harry feel under-dressed with his frowzy bed-head and mismatched sleep clothes.

 

“Okay, so um,” he spun the glass vial in his hand, “three drops of this stuff is all you need, right? Do we have to put it in something? Water, or...?”

 

Draco shook his head and extended his arm, motioning for the potion. “No, I can just drop it on my tongue. May I?” Harry hesitated, receiving an irritated eye-roll. “Come on, I'm not going to cheat you. It's not like I can just pretend and not to take it with you there watching me all suspicious-like anyway. Just hand it over.”

 

He still didn't like it, but chose not to argue about it, handing the vial over with no further complaint (out loud).

 

Draco took the Veritaserum and expertly removed the stopper, carefully raising the glass dropper up to where he'd stuck out his tongue. Frankly, the boy looked ridiculous: brows furrowed in careful concentration, eyes crossed and staring at the dropper in front of his nose, tongue stuck out as he counted one, two, three drops. He made a face, swallowing reflexively, and recorked the bottle.

 

“Alright, ask your question, Potter.”

 

Harry eagerly leaned forward. “What have you been up to, and what does it have to do with Katie?”

 

Draco opened his mouth a few times, but didn't speak. “That's two questions and they're too vague. I needed Katie for something.”

 

“ _What_ did you need Katie for, specifically?” Harry clarified.

 

The Slytherin looked frustrated, “I can't say, I'm sworn to secrecy. We agreed you'd only ask one question, Potter!”

 

“It's the same question! Did you use the Imperius curse?”

 

“Yes,” he answered straightforwardly. “All right, Potter, that's it. You've asked your question; quest _ions_ , rather, which is cheating but I'll allow it. You're turn.” He raised blond brows in prompt.

 

Harry flushed, blanching. “What, that's it? Just go for it?” Draco nodded.

 

“Yeah. You said this would be quid pro quo, Potter. I answered your questions, putting myself in danger, I'll have you know, now I expect payment. I also expect that you'll keep what I tell you to yourself.”

 

“You used an _Unforgivable_ on another student!”

 

“I had my reasons. Besides, you knew that already,” Draco shrugged

 

“What reason could possibly be enough for you to Imperio an innocent girl? She was in hospital!” Harry screamed, knuckles white where he was gripping the arm rests, holding himself back.

 

Draco's wand twitched in his fingers, belying his own mounting frustrations. “Ask me that next week,” he circumvented, grinding his teeth as he refused to give into the Veritaserum's compulsion, yet still found himself unable to lie until the potion wore off. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to calm himself. In a forced casual voice, strained with weariness he asked, “Are you going to do this thing or not, Potter? I've had a trying week.”

 

Harry huffed, throwing himself angrily out of the chair and stalked the short distance to where Malfoy was sitting. His eyes widened a little in mild surprise as Harry practically fell to his knees, ignoring the loud thud (and the pain, he could have been more careful), and forcibly parting Draco's legs.

 

Draco snorted. “You're keen,” he teased wryly. Harry glared in response, face not matching his hands, which were already working on the clasp of Malfoy's belt. The blond watched on, unhelpful and seemingly disinterested in spite of his half-hard cock which Harry could feel against his arm as he worked on opening his trousers.

 

Finally, he got them fully open to reveal soft, expensive looking purple shorts, clinging flatteringly to Draco's growing erection. Harry didn't care about the aesthetics, though, and hooked his fingers under the purple waistband, gripping both them and the trousers. He looked up at Malfoy impatiently and waited until the other lifted his hips obligingly, still watching in detached curiosity.

 

Harry pulled the pants and trousers down in one quick motion, sliding down past pale knees and legs dusted in soft, fair hair. Still angered, and unwilling to deal with the fabric in his way, Harry went on to slip off Draco's supple leather shoes (the other boy's school uniform alone cost as much as Harry's entire wardrobe), and pulled the trousers off his legs completely, tossing them to the side, leaving Draco in his school shirt and black silk trouser socks.

 

“Fold those, Potter, you'll wrinkle them if you leave them that way,” Draco sniped imperiously as he loosened his Slytherin tie and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. Harry rolled his eyes but refused to argue further, so he obediently folded the expensive material, laying them atop the shoes he had set aside. He didn't bother with the pants, dropping them unceremoniously on top.

 

“I'm not folding your pants, Malfoy,” he refused. Draco rolled his eyes, but said nothing, laying his head back as he adjusted himself in his seat, scooting his hips forward so he could lounge farther back, arms laying relaxed on their rests, legs parted in a comfortable sprawl with Harry kneeling between them.

 

Eyes closed, Draco heaved a deep sigh and – finally – allowed himself to relax.

 

-

 

Draco kept his eyes shut and tried not to think about how he was half naked and utterly vulnerable in front of his rival, though he kept his wand in a loose grip in his right hand. He was taking a gamble laying down his guard like this, but he knew Gryffindors weren't typically the type to curse when one's back was turned (or eyes were closed, as the case may be), and for as little he held the other boy in his esteem, he trusted him. Merlin knows what his father would say if he saw him now, but that's neither here nor there.

 

True to his instincts he heard Potter shuffle forward, rough hands smoothing up his thighs before one wrapped loosely around his cock, not yet fully hard. In spite of the dryness, the sensation of the other boy's calloused, work-roughened skin on his own felt wonderful.

 

Potter worked his cock in long, sure strokes just a few times before he started laving him with his tongue, blissfully slick and warm. Draco sighed and licked his lips and he relaxed further. He felt a a glob of saliva slide down his shaft before it was wiped away, smeared in purposeful strokes to wet his prick.

 

Plump lips wrapped around his head and Draco gasped, hips bucking forward as a tongue teased his slit and the rim of his foreskin. Tongue sliding down to massage his frenulum, he felt Potter gently suckle at his head, and Draco couldn't help but open his eyes to look.

 

Potter was still tense and angry, though his eyes were drooping slightly, and his mouth was gentle. Draco couldn't help but smooth his hand over the other boy's unkempt hair, startling him. Green eyes snapped up to meet his own and they stared off for a long, tense moment, before Draco grazed his nails lightly along the brunets scalp and guiding him forward.

 

Harry blinked, but obeyed his silent direction and took him in fully. Draco didn't force him this time, allowing him to get adjusted and find his own pace, getting comfortable with the weight of him in his mouth. Draco slid his hand to the back of the Gryffindor's neck, petting the nape of his hair (which is actually incredibly soft, in spite of the tangles. He'd expected it to be coarser). He felt the other boy relax under his hand.

 

As Harry found his rhythm, he started taking him deeper in spite of the occasional reflexive gag which he didn't let throw him off (natural cock sucker, this one, he'll train that gag reflex right out of him in no time). His eyelids drooped further and Draco saw the brilliant green of his eyes glaze over as he lost himself to the motion.

 

If he wasn't sure of Harry's consent before, he was now, because he was obviously enjoying this as much as Draco himself was. He couldn't see with the angle he was sitting, but he was sure the brunet was hard. 

 

Personally, Draco thought Harry was going too slow, and without the use of his tongue, the bobbing wasn't going to get him off, but he couldn't deny that it felt nice, and since it was obvious that the motion was relaxing his partner he decided to allow it for while. He closed his eyes again and rested his head against the back of his chair, continuing to pet the back of Harry's neck.

 

For a long while (at least few minutes), Draco was content to let Harry drift off, but eventually he decided it was time to take his pleasure. Bringing his hand back up onto Harry's head, Draco guided him to move faster, resetting the pace.

 

“Remember to use your tongue, Harry,” he mumbled, prompting the boy to recall the lesson he'd given last time. On cue, Harry started using his tongue and lips, stimulating him a little clumsily as he tried and failed to match the actions with the rhythm Draco was forcing on him.

 

Harry squeezed his thighs, sucking on the head of his cock when he pulled out, and didn't complain when he started pumping his hips in shallow thrusts to meet his quickening pace. Draco was careful not to choke the younger boy or hurt his throat as he fucked into his mouth.

 

The new pace was working, and Draco felt his stones draw up embarrassingly quickly, heat pooling deep at the base of his spine. “Shit... Oh!” Quickly he pulled Harry off of him, and wrapped his hand around his prick, stroking himself to completion.

 

“Oh, oh, oh! Fuckkk!” he swore, shaking as he spilled into his hand (not onto Potter's face this time, though _that_ was brilliant). He heaved a deep, shaking groan when he felt a rough hand join his own in milking his cock, coaxing the come from him in short, firm strokes.

 

Finally, finished and over-sensitive, he shooed Potter away and removed his own hand from his softened cock. He lazily waved his wand at his sticky, cum covered hand, and mumbled a half-hearted “Evanesco.”

 

“Fuck,” he said simply. “You're getting _good_ at that, Potter. Bloody hell.” He stood and stretched, fingers laced high above his head as he arched his back before dropping his arms and redressing himself. Potter stumbled to his feet behind him. Quickly, he pulled on his pants and trousers, though he didn't bother with the belt, choosing instead to leave it hanging open, and stepped into his shoes. 

 

Turning, he saw Potter standing awkwardly by the opposite chair, rucksack held in front of his groin as if he wasn't obviously hiding an erection.

 

“So...” Potter floundered, looking everywhere but at him. “Are we done now? I mean, it's really late... So I'll... See you next week?” He was blushing. It was adorable.

 

-

 

“C'mere Potter,” Malfoy beckoned.

 

Finally, green eyes met grey. “What?”

 

Draco smiled coaxingly, which was incredibly weird, 'cause Harry didn't remember ever having actually seen Draco smile for real before. “Come here,” he enunciated carefully, holding his hand out, right hand depositing his wand into his back pocket.

 

Harry looked wary, but went to him anyway.

 

Silently, Draco took the rucksack from him, ignoring his protests, and sank (unfairly) gracefully to his knees.

 

“Whoa! Hey!” Harry yelped in surprise. Draco continued on, shucking the tartan pyjama bottoms off his hips along with his boxers.

 

“What are you doing?!” Potter protested, voice cracking embarrassingly like he was still thirteen years old. He angled his hips away, though his cock bobbed wantonly toward Draco as though it could feel his proximity. Traitor.

 

“Shhh,” Malfoy soothed him, petting his thigh like the flank of some spooked animal (he felt a distant twitch of offended irritation at that, but there were more important matters to attend to, so he ignored it). “I'm only returning the favour. You said you'd never gotten one before, so just stand there and enjoy it, yeah? You did so well earlier, Harry, you deserve a reward,” Malfoy cooed, which was also _really_ fucking weird, considering the fact that Malfoy _hated him_ , but he chalked it up to him being uncharacteristically affectionate post-orgasm.

 

“Draco...” he groaned out in warning (ostensibly, though he couldn't deny seeing Draco Malfoy on his knees turned him on a little). Draco hummed but otherwise seemed to ignore him.

 

“Good boy, Harry,” Draco mumbled mindlessly (seriously, what is he, a puppy?) and then he set his lips on Harry's angry, red cock. The blond smeared his lips along Harry's thick shaft, feeling it throb. He was already so close, precome dripping from his flushed tip. He gasped when Draco swirled his tongue around his head, tasting the salty fluid there as if he _liked_ it.

 

He didn't dawdle further, though, and quickly brought the head to his lips and slid his head forward, expertly deep-throating him (seriously, how did he miss the fact that Malfoy was apparently an enormous slag?). And _where the fuck was his gag reflex?!_

 

“Oh my god-!” he cried out when his tip hit the back of Malfoy's throat.

 

He flicked his eyes up to meet Harry's and held them as his nose pressed into damp curls. Jesus Fucking Christ that is so hot, he can see why blokes like this. He felt a deft tongue massage his throbbing vein as Malfoy hollowed his cheeks, now flushed with arousal. He flicked his tongue against the tip as he pulled off before bobbing back down. He set a brutal pace, and Harry knew that he wasn't going to last much longer when one hand slipped down to play with his bollocks, the other keeping a bruising hold on his hip.

 

“Fuck, Christ, Malfoy!” he reflexively set his hands on Malfoy's head, not to move him, just so he could ground himself a little, because oh, my God. He really wished he wasn't about to come, because he doubted he would ever have another chance to mess up the Pure Blood's hair like this again.

 

Silver eyes glittered mischievously and suddenly he felt a long finger slip back between his cheeks, brushing his arsehole.

 

“Oh!” he gasped, hole twitching at the touch, but before he could say anything further, the finger moved on. Another joined it, firmly rubbing at that perfect spot right behind his bollocks in tight little circles, and Harry's orgasm blast out of him like it was waiting for that all along.

 

“Ahh!” he yelled, hips slamming forward and coming down Draco's pale throat. The Slytherin swallowed around him, prompting another stream of come.

 

When he was finished, Draco pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry trembled, panting, and _literally_ weak in the knees as he tried to come down from that. He wanted to protest when the Slytherin tucked him back into his boxer shorts and righted his trousers, but to be honest, he just couldn't muster up the energy.

 

Draco rolled back onto his toes and up to his feet, and pressed a chaste kiss onto Potter's pink cheek, patting the other lightly with his hand.

 

“See you next week, Potter!” He said cheerfully, handing Harry his rucksack and practically shoving him out the door.

 

Next week.

 


	4. Proper Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been spending too much time stalking a certain Slytherin, and not enough time with his girlfriend. 
> 
> Ginny rectifies that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I've finally managed to get over myself and write this freaking chapter. I decided to split this one into two chapters as well since I finished part one with a full 2000 words, so you should get chapter 5 soon enough. 
> 
> WARNING: HETERO SEX AHEAD!
> 
> I REPEAT: HET AHEAD!
> 
> you have been warned. Godspeed.

A week later, Harry was once again sitting impatiently in his bed, waiting for his dorm mates to fall asleep. He hadn't bothered to dress for bed yet, choosing instead to sit up and do homework while also keeping an eye on his friends as they settled down. It was a quarter to midnight, he had finished his Transfiguration essay, and it seemed as if everyone had finally fallen to sleep. Just to be safe, he decided to wait another fifteen minutes, should anyone wake up.

Making sure his Tempus charm stayed up, Harry flopped down onto his back, not bothering to worm his way under the duvet. He divided his attention between his friends' snoring and restless tossing and turning, and the time which blinked benignly where it floated above his head, and generally tried not to just run out of the room.

His meeting with Malfoy last week hadn't gone the way he'd expected, and he realised that he didn't put enough thought into the types of questions he'd be able to weasel out of the Slytherin boy. He'd spent the last week thinking up questions he might be able to ask, and, after thorough analysis, discarded those which either referred to Malfoy's task, or that Malfoy wouldn't be able to answer even without the enchantment (Malfoy probably didn't know anything about Horcruxes, and he wasn't about to waste his question on finding out what miniscule information he might have been told or otherwise gleaned from Voldemort, if anything at all, which was incredibly unlikely).

Harry shifted in impatience, glancing at the charm (11:51), then at his dorm mates. They seemed like they were asleep, from what he could tell from the outside of their closed curtains. Harry could probably make it.

As he resolved to just go ahead and go, he saw the door slowly crack open. Harry lurched up and stared as a shadowy figure tiptoed into the room. Irrationally, his first thought was that it was Draco. It wasn't, of course. Though with the lights out, all he could make out was a dark sillouette, it was clear that the sillouette was petite, with long hair, and the slight curve of breasts. He saw a flash of white teeth as she grinned at him and quickly scurried across the room and onto his bed.

"Ginny!" he hissed as she climbed into the strip of space at his side, one knee between his own.

"Shh!" she whispered back, giggling before closing his curtains and setting a Silencio. Charms cast, she pressed herself flush against his side, pushing them both down.

Harry craned his neck to look at her where she was snuggled into him, a little confused as to what he was supposed to do with his arms. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Ginny pouted, pushing herself up onto her elbow. "We've been dating for three weeks now, Harry, and we've hardly spent any time together at all," she argued, and, yeah, that kind of made him out to be a shit boyfriend when she put it like that. "You spend all your time with Ron and Hermione or stalking Malfoy, and hardly any time with me. I mean, I know they're your best friends, and I'm not saying you should stop hanging out with them; though you could stand to let Malfoy alone for a while; but I'd like to spend some time with you, too!"

Harry sighed, staring at her face in the dim glow of his Tempus charm. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said, contrite. "You're right, I haven't been spending enough time with you." In apology, Harry darted forward and softly captured her lips, still pursed in a slight pout.

That seemed to be the right thing to do, because Ginny melted against him, cupping his jaw in one soft hand. Her lips were soft and moist where they moved sensuously against his own, and her breath tasted like peppermint. She shifted a little closer and tilted her head and suddenly everything was a lot more intense.

Ginny licked into his mouth and pushed him flat onto his back, following him so she was laying over him. She rocked sinuously with her whole body, legs straddling his left thigh, and Harry chased her tongue with his own, sliding one hand up the back of her loose sleep top. Ginny moaned softly into his mouth and reached behind herself to grab ahold of his hand, sliding it down to cup her arse. Harry gasped and squeezed compulsively, and was rewarded with a louder groan.

Harry whimpered a little in disappointment when she pulled away, but was appeased when she set her sights on the pale slope of her neck. She kissed and licked at his throat, not biting but sucking here and there. She eventually chose one spot in particular and sucked on it, drawing the blood to the surface. Harry writhed underneath her, feeling himself harden.

Embarrassed, he canted his hips away from her, manoevering so that she couldn't feel his erection.

Ginny wouldn't have it, though. Chuckling, the girl pushed a hand between them and cupped the front of his trousers, rubbing him with her palm. Harry bucked his hips, his face flaming as he gasped, choking on air.

"Don't be embarrassed, Harry," she breathed seductively into his ear. "I'd be insulted if you weren't hard after all this."

"O-oh," Harry stuttered.

"You like it, right?" she asked, her confidence waning a little in insecurity.

"Yes!" he yelled, wincing when he remembered his friends, but relaxing again, safe behind his sound-proof curtains. Ginny grinned, all confident seduction once more.

"Good. Me, too," she said, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth. "Do you want to see?"

Harry blinked in confusion, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to desipher her meaning. "I can turn the light on, if you want?" he offered, unsure, and the girl rolled her eyes. Once again, she took his hand with her own, this time setting it low on her flat stomach, under her shirt.

"I meant, do you want to see how much I like it?" she reiterated, pushing his hand down further, his fingertips sliding beneath the waistband of her sleep pants.

"Ohh..." Harry breathed, nearly silently. He gulped. "Yes, please," he said, taking initiative into his own hand, as it were, and continuing the path down into the sparse patch of fine hair.

Ginny let out a high-pitched little mew, spreading her knees a little. "Keep going," she said, and he did, sliding down and down to where she was hot and slick under his fingers.

"Gin..." he said, awed and a little terrified as he slowly moved his fingers up and down her cunt.

"'s good, right?" she gasped out, enjoying the feel of his fingers there, and he nodded. Ginny bit her lip for a moment before she made up her mind, shooing his hand away. Before he could be afraid he'd done something wrong somehow, Ginny was shimmying out of her shorts. His brain short circuited a little at the knowledge that she hadn't bothered with knickers. The younger girl kicked the offending clothing to the end of the bed and crawled up his body, one knee on either side of his chest.

"D'you wanna taste?" she asked breathlessly, disguising her request as an offer. Harry wasn't dim enough to mistake her meaning this time, but he hesitated nonetheless.

"I.. I've never..." he confessed, blushing.

Ginny only stroked his cheek. "That's okay, I'll tell you what to do."

"Okay..." he allowed, feeling his heart race with nerves.

Ginny shuffled up a little more, kneeling above his head. The lighting was too dim to really see her properly, or even really tell what he was doing. Ginny guided him forward, and Harry took the hint, tentatively setting his tongue on her.

Instinctively he couldn't help but compare this with his experiences with Draco. Like then, he had his nose buried in her pubic hair, the scent thicker. He could smell the universal scent of sex and arousal mixed with something unknowable and what he could only reallty identifty as 'feminine'. The taste was more intense; salty without the slightly bitter tang of Draco's precome, but more viscous on his tongue. It was consuming and messier than going down on the other boy, his cheeks and chin, and even his tongue were a mess as he lapped at her.

At her command, he found his way to the dip of her opening and pushed his tongue inside, swallowing the slick as it dribbled out of her. He sucked a little as his tongue fucked her and he brought his hands up to grip her hips where they were rocking into his mouth. Ginny's own fingers had slipped down to rub in tight little circles at the top of her snatch where he could only assume was her clit.

Ginny was a mess; quiet but not silent, every exhale accompanied by a small, desperate sound. She humped his face while he kept up the movement of his tongue, her other hand sliding under her shirt to pinch and roll one perky nipple between her fingers.

His jaw was aching, but he didn't complain. He continued his ministrations, lapping and sucking on her slit when he wanted to give his tongue a rest, then going back to fucking her soon enough. He couldn't help but think that going down on a boy was a lot easier.

He thought Ginny might have been getting close from the way her thighs were quivering around his head.

"Put- ah!- put your fingers in me, please, Harry...!" she moaned out desperately.

Harry obeyed wordlessly, pulling his mouth away and replacing it with his fingers which slid in easily. He set a quick pace which Ginny approved of by the way she eagerly started grinding herself down onto them.

The older boy wiped his mouth, clearing it of some of her slick before reaching up to follow her lead and cup her other breast. He squeezed and kneaded the perky handfull before lightly pinching her nipple, his other hand tirelessly fingering her.

Finally, Ginny gave a loud squeal, and Harry felt her clench and quiver around his fingers, soaking his hand in her sticky come.

"Ohhhhh...!! Harry!" she moaned, drawing her orgasm out longer than he'd thought possible, at least for any boy.

Ginny leant down to kiss him, her mouth devouring and demanding as she licked her juices from his mouth. Never ceasing her attention to his mouth, she climbed off of him, settling to one side as she reached down and rubbed his cock.

Breaking away, Ginny quickly unbuttoned his trousers, opening them and pushing aside the fold of his boxers to release his cock. He was half hard, having wilted a little while he was busy pleasing Ginny, but when she wrapped her lips around him, he knew it wouldn't take long to be back at full mast.

Ginny didn't hesitate to draw him down into her throat, and Harry had a thought to where she'd learned to deep-throat, because it was obvious that this wasn't her first try at this particular activity. The younger girl set a rapid pace, not bothering with tongue or suction, but the feel of her wet heat was enough for him, and it didn't take long until he knew he was about to come.

Blindly he pawed at her shoulder, "Gin.. Ginny, I'm gonna..!" he warned. Ginny heeded the warning, pulling away and stroking him with her fist, leaving Harry to cum over her hand and onto his stomach.

Ginny somehow managed to slip her shorts back on while Harry calmed down. She leaned down, hair falling over her shoulder to tickle his cheek as she gave him a soft kiss. "See, that was fun, right?" she said triumphantly.

Harry nodded. "Uh huh," he agreed weakly, panting a little, still trying to catch his breath.

Ginny grinned and layed next to him. "See, this is what happens when we're actually able to spend time together," she admonished playfully, flicking him in the side.

They layed quietly for a moment but soon Ginny sighed. "I've got to go," she said reluctantly. "I'm tired after all that," she grinned slyly, "and I can't risk me falling asleep and getting caught by my brother." Ginny kissed him one more time, lingering, not wanting to pull away. "I'll see you tomorrow..."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, squeezing her arm. "Good night."

"Good night, Harry," and then she was off, slipping out the door as silently as she had come.

Harry lay breathless in the dark, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He thought he must be in shock. Huffing, he laid his arm over his stomach then winced when he came in contact with the cold, sticky come on his belly and shirt.

At least Draco had the courtesy to swallow.

Oh shit.

Harry looked up at the Tempus charm floating overhead. 12:18.

He's late.

Draco's going to kill him.


	5. Laying in Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter was late.
> 
> Bloody sodding Gryffindor TWAT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not exactly satisfied with this chapter. It came out practically stream of consciousness, so I'm unsure as to the quality of it.
> 
> I edited it a bit, but please feel free to let me know if you think it needs anything.
> 
> On the plus side, I met my goal of 3k, so there's that!

Draco stormed into the Room of Requirement and slammed the door behind him, feeling a small fraction of his frustration sated by the loud, echoing 'BOOM' of the heavy door rattling against its frame. (Distantly Draco acknowledged that the sound was entirely for his benefit, the Room itself having sensed his need to vent; he's sure the door could have been entirely silent regardless of how hard he slammed it shut.) He didn't bother to look around, he knew exactly what room he called up and how to get around it.

He stalked forward through the sitting room and into the spacious bedchamber kicking off his shoes and quickly, unceremoniously disrobing, leaving everything in a jumpled pile on the floor. Once fully undressed he climbed up, tossed his wand carelessly onto the table, and collapsed face-forward on the large bed. It wasn't quite as comfortable as his real bed at home, but this magical facsimile was enough for him at the moment. It calmed him some to be surrounded by these familiar walls; his sanctuary in spite of the rest of the friction and malaise at home.

Huffing, the teen grabbed at the pillows, pulling them into a pile then burying his face in them, screaming until he was hoarse.

He hadn't bothered going back down to the dungeons after his patrols, instead climbing up to the seventh floor. He was an hour early for his rendezvous with Potter, but hopefully it would give him time to calm his ire.

Everything seemed to go wrong today.

He's barely been sleeping lately, and having finally fallen asleep some time in the wee hours of the morning, he overslept and missed breakfast. He couldn't concentrate in class, only barely managing not to land himself in detention for his inattention or hurt himself somehow in distraction. He made less than no progress on the Vanishing Cabinet, and in fact had managed to set himself back a week or so instead. Pansy wouldn't shut her sodding mouth for more than five minutes about the Dark Lord and how she's going to take the Mark as soon as she turns seventeen (an idea which Draco would like to be able to warn her away from if he could, but she is as much a slave to her father's whim as Draco is to his own, not to mention the fact that he would surely be punished for saying anything against his Lord, and Draco is not well known for holding his tongue, so this is particularly frustrating). Then, to top it all off, he ran out of cigarettes around lunchtime and has been keenly feeling the loss for the last several hours.

He could drink, he supposed, but he didn't have the patience to go fetch a bottle of anything before coming up here, and the Room cannot conjure food or drink, unfortunately.

Though perhaps it could locate something from the Room of Hidden Things and just, bring it over?

Draco turned his head, staring at the bedside table. 'Please bring me any alcohol left in the Room of Hidden Things' he requested silently (if slightly desperately) in his mind. Nothing appeared on the table, and he rolled around, glancing at the other surfaces in the room, but none appear to have spontaneously acquired any liquor, so he assumes the wish was for naught.

Figures.

The blond pouted for a moment, flopping back over onto his stomach, laying his cheek on the mound of pillows under his head.

Probably he ought to have brought a book or something, but he doubts he could concentrate on anything right now.

Draco sighed, feeling goose pimples breaking out on the backs of his naked thighs and reluctantly climbed out of bed.

He felt no shame walking around naked in the privacy and seclusion of what appeared to be his own bedroom, nor did he really feel any in the company of others for that matter. He was an attractive bloke and he knew it. Living for several months out of the year in a dorm full of boys, sharing showers and a dressing-room with his quidditch-mates has stripped him of any modesty he may have had (which was never much to begin with). The last few weeks, though, he's had to be on his guard, never removing his shirt in the company of others, should they see the pink, healing scars criss-crossing his chest.

Fortunately he was alone now, and what did it matter if Potter saw them? They were shagging, and Potter's the one who put them there to begin with, it's not as if they'll surprise him.

Though they make make him feel terribly guilty, which would make Draco feel better.

Let him apologise some more.

Draco smirked maliciously, feeling his cock thicken a little between his legs.

The teen flicked his wand at the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, enchanting them to fold themselves and stack up neatly on the bench at the end of his bed as he wandered confidently into the en-suite.

Draco tapped his wand on the spout of the sunken bathtub, letting the magic of the Room conjure the warm bath water. None of his expensive soaps or toiletries were there, but a nice lounge in the bath would sufficiently relax him, he hoped.

Not bothering to let the bath fill completely, he stepped in, hissing at the heat burning the sensitive skin of his feet. Cautiously, he sat down, wincing at the sharp coolness of the porcelain against his back then relaxing as he grew used to it, the coolness against his back and the rising heat around his legs and middle a pleasant contrast. Draco pushed his fringe back and laid his head against the raised back, letting his pale eyes flutter shut.

The teen lounged in the water, dozing lightly for a long while. He barely noticed when the water turned off, the level having reached its peak. Eyes closed, he imagined Potter joining him. The slighter boy would be reluctant, unsure as he stepped into the tub, splashing water over the lip as he sank down. Of course, Draco wouldn't move to make room for him, so he'd have no choice but to seat himself on the Slytherin's lap.

This, of course, would lead to squawking and squirming, and Draco would rut his prick against the Gryffindor's pale arse. Potter would like it despite himself. Sure, he would complain, but he wouldn't fight him when Draco raises him up and pushes inside.

Draco gasped and thrust his hips up into nothing.

Groaning, he wiped a hand across his brow, wiping away the sweat that collected there from the steam.

His cock was hard and throbbing against his stomach and Draco palmed it for a moment, not stroking, merely enjoying the pressure before raising up and out of the tub, slinging a towel around his waist as he went.

A glance at the wall-clock in the lounge showed the time to be about ten minutes to midnight and Draco shivered a little in anticipation.

Carelessly, the Slytherin fell onto the chaise longue, pulling his legs up, letting his towel pool uselessly at his waist, erection bobbing freely. Keeping an eye on the time, Draco lounged back against the arm, one leg pulled up against the back while the other spread wide, foot on the floor. He lifted one arm to drape over his head and let the other meander downwards, sliding through the sparse trail of hair to his cock which lay thick and pulsing, warm against his firm stomach.

Taking himself in hand, Draco languidly stroked, working himself up. He kept his pace slow, gripping himself loosely and thrusting up into the circle of his fingers. His pulled his other arm down, letting his fingers idly dip down to fondle his bollocks for a moment, moaning as he rubbed at the sensitive spot behind them.

His face and chest was flushed and wet from the bath, but new sweat began to bead on his skin. The teen raised his hand to pull and play with his nipple while the other twisted a little at his head, thumbing over the tip now leaking come to spread the fluid down over his shaft.

He kept up for several minutes before he felt his climax approaching and gripped the base of his cock, squeezing to stave it off.

Groaning in frustration, Draco looked at the time and saw that it was a few minutes passed midnight now. Potter was late.

"Bloody sodding Gryffindor TWAT," he muttered under his breath in irritation.

The blond lay breathing for another few minutes, watching the door in case the other boy ever decided to show up. No luck, and now it was nearly ten passed.

Draco huffed and rolled over onto his stomach, cock trapped between his stomach and the upholstery as he pillowed his head on his folded arms. He sighed a bit at the pleasant friction, his erection never having died down during his short hiatus. Gritting his teeth, he rocked forward, rutting into the cushion.

He kept the pace slow, deliberate, not wanting to work himself back up so quickly. Eyes clenched shut, he brought back up his fantasy from the bath, rearranging them so Potter was on his stomach beneath him, Draco laying over him, holding him down. Potter would be unbearably hot like this, no leverage available, sucking his cock in like a greedy slut, begging for more of what only Draco could give him.

Draco let out a long moan, the sound echoing through the chambers as his hips snapped forward, desperate for the tight heat of his fantasy.

Potter would be loud, too, he bet, all unchecked moaning and keening and whimpering with need. He'd be virginal, untouched and starved for it, so responsive he wouldn't be able to help himself. He'd cry out for Draco, bucking up under him to take him in deeper, squirming for the angle he needs and Draco would have to hold him still. He wouldn't leave him wanting, though, he's not cruel, he'd let him wait and beg a bit and then he'd give him what he needs, fucking him hard and fast and deep, dragging and grinding into that spot inside him, make him scream-

Draco gasped, working a hand under his body to grab at his prick, sobbing as he staved off another orgasm. He panted, sweating as his hips refused to still, thrusting down but denied any kind of friction. His cock was dripping and pulsing in his hand, his bollocks drawn up tight and Draco clenched his teeth.

The door opened.

Draco turned his head, blinking blearily at Potter who stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed from the door which closed silently behind him.

“You're late,” Draco ground out hoarsely.

The brunet worked his mouth uselessly as Draco pushed himself up and stalked over to the other boy. “I'm sorry,” he managed before Draco pressed him up against the door and pushed him to his knees.

“Ah!” the Gryffindor cried out as his knees painfully crashed into the floorboards, but Draco ignored him, fisting his hand tightly in his wild curls and pulling him closer to his crotch, cock catching against the seam of his lips before sliding against his cheek.

“C'mon, Potter – fuck! – I've already had to hold off coming twice because you decided to take your bleedin' time getting up here, so – oh! – open up 'n let me fuck your mouth, please,” Draco rambled, tugging at the soft hair between his fingers, fingernails scratching at the scalp.

Potter let out a soft, pained noise at the rough treatment, but parted his lips, turning his head to seek out the top of Draco's cock. The taller boy groaned in relief, petting Potter a little as he guided his cock between the boy's pink lips.

Unlike last time, Draco had no patience to let the other boy find his rhythm, instead holding him steady while he thrust into his mouth. He started slowly, hips hitching shallowly, but gradually sliding in deeper until he was hitting the back of Potter's throat which swallowed compulsively around his head.

He lost a little of his composure when he felt warm hands come up to grip his naked hips. Giving Potter that leverage allowed Draco to speed up until he was properly fucking the other boy's pretty mouth. He could feel the Gryffindor's saliva drooling down his shaft, and Draco bent his head to look down at him.

He let out a low groan at the sight of Potter's glazed eyes half lidded, lips red from abuse and wet with spit and precome. Draco braced himself against the wall, pillowing his forehead on his arm so he could stare down as Potter took his cock so well, and he lowered his other hand from Potter's head to thumb across his jaw which was stretched so wide for him.

Another dozen or so thrusts was all it took, Potter lifted his eyes so unfocused green met grey and Draco (fucking finally!) broke.

His eyes slipped shut as his climax washed over him, mouth opened but no sound coming out as he held his breath, pulling Potter closer until his nose nudged up into the short blond hairs at the base of his dick, pushing in as deeply as he could to spurt down the boy's throat.

Potter made a muffled noise and Draco felt him work his throat around him, swallowing him down as if he had any other option, milking another wave of come from him.

Once finished, Draco slipped his softening cock from Potter's bruised lips and tugged weakly at the collar of the Gryffindor's dress shirt, urging him back up. Draco stepped back a little to allow Potter room to struggle up to his feet, but pushed immediately back in, crowding him against the wall as he darted forward to taste himself on Potter's tongue.

Potter moaned into his mouth and Draco clumsily opened his trousers, reaching a pale hand inside, kicking Potter's legs open wide enough for Draco to step up between them. Potter broke away when Draco gripped his cock tightly in one fist, banging his head back against the door, drawing the blond's eyes down to his exposed neck.

Draco blinked at the sight of the pink marks on his otherwise pale skin, then snarled at the implication. They would fade by tomorrow morning, not having been sucked hard enough to bruise, which meant they were fresh (it seems he's found the reason for Potter's lateness). That Potter would fuck his girlfriend before coming to him enraged him, that she would put her mark on him -!

But he did come to Draco. For whatever reason he has in his idiotic little mind, Potter made the decision to sneak out of his girlfriend's comfortable bed and give himself over to Draco, and Draco would take everything he's got.

“Draco...” Potter whimpered, pushing his hips up into Draco's hand and he realised he was just standing there holding onto his dick. Draco nuzzled up under his ear as he started stripping his dick with long, quick strokes. Potter tried to match his pace and Draco let him as he found one of the Weaslette's little love bites. The Slytherin set his mouth on it, sucking and biting, drawing the blood up and making it bruise.

“Ohhhh!” Potter moaned, arching his neck up into Draco's mouth, and the taller boy preened internally, rewarding the brunet with a quick twist at his sensitive head, seeking out the other little pink marks to replace with his own. Draco lifted one of Potter's legs up around his waist and the teen responded by wrapping his arms around Draco's neck, holding tight and digging his short nails into Draco's shoulders.

Draco bit down on the pale flesh between his lips and Potter screamed, coming between them. Draco managed to catch the sticky fluid in his palm, preventing it from splashing up onto Potter's shirt because of the two of them, Draco was actually a considerate lover who didn't show up half an hour late or let his partner ruin his clothes.

The blond unwrapped the other boy from around his body, shaking his hand with a muttered 'Evanesco' to rid the come from his fingers. Without a word to Potter who, without Draco's support, slid uselessly to the floor, the Slytherin swaggered back to his seat, lounging back with a deep, sated sigh.

After a long moment, Potter collected himself enough to refasten his trousers and plop gracelessly down onto the sofa across from him.

“Where are we?” he asked hoarsely (and he'd better hope no one asked him about that on the way back to the Tower), looking around the chambers curiously, obviously not having gotten a good look earlier.

“My bedchamber,” Draco muttered in reply.

Potter's eyes widened in surprise. “At Malfoy Manor?” he clarified.

“Mhm,” Draco agreed disinterestedly.

Potter studied the room with thorough fascination, though whether that was due to genuine interest in his home and/or decorating or because he refused to look at Draco who was still laying shamelessly naked in front of him, Draco neither knew nor particularly cared, but Potter's cheeks were stained a muddled pink, so there was that.

“So, um...” Potter cleared his throat, “uhm...” He stuttered, working himself up, trying to find his words.

“Yeees...?” Draco drawled in prompt, raising one pale eyebrow at the boy.

“Why did you take the Dark Mark?”

The Slytherin blinked, eyes darting down to the black stain on his arm that he'd honestly forgotten about until now.

“Blackmail,” he responded, startled into honesty, unprepared for such a question. “He threatened my mother, I had no other choice.”

“Oh,” the Gryffindor looked at a loss, both concerned and unsure, and Draco was not in the mood to deal with either of those things right now.

“Was that all you needed, then?” he asked, glancing toward the door unsubtly.

Potter nodded jerkily, “Uhm, y- yeah. I think so.” The other boy stood, and Draco smirked at the sight of the dark bruises which now replaced the faint pink marks left by the Weasley chit. He watched as Potter stumbled out of the room, then let his head fall back onto the arm of the chaise, contemplating whether or not to move to his bed or trek all the way back down to Slytherin.

He could really use a cigarette.

Instead, he pushed himself up and stumbled his way back into his bedroom, opting to just stay up here seeing as he had a bed so readily available. Curling up under the illusion of his blankets, Draco dropped off into a reasonably satisfied sleep.

-

Harry lay in his bed, mind racing from the events of the night when he suddenly lurched up and smacked himself in the forehead.

“Son of a bitch!” he swore, wincing again before remembering the silencing charm on his curtains. He'd forgotten the bloody Veritaserum.


	6. Not-So-Sore Loser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny spend the day together playing a friendly Seeker's game, much to Draco's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Het! And maybe a little bit of dub-con. This is the end of the het though, so ~ yay!
> 
> This was SUPPOSED to have been posted on the first in honour of the back-to-school day for Hogwarts, but I ended up posting [To the Winner Go the Spoils](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4711442) instead. All of the Draco-POV bits were originally unintended, but he wanted to be written and I am helpless against him. I have a preoccupation with Draco bathing (he's an overgroomer). And Harry has an obsession with the way Draco's pubic hair shimmers in the sunlight :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry slept well past breakfast the next morning, his combined activities the night before having exhausted him. He was briefly awoken at some point by Ron to inform him that he and Hermione were going to Hogsmeade and, “Are you coming or not, Harry? It's half-nine already!” to which Harry grumbled something indistinctly and rolled away, promptly falling back to sleep.

 

When he woke up for real it was just after noon and the Tower was nearly empty. He changed out of his uniform which he'd slept in the night before, quickly donning a well-worn pair of jeans and an old T-shirt that had once belonged to Ron, (and possibly every other Weasley boy as well) and pointing his wand into his open mouth, silently casting a cleaning spell to freshen his breath before 'sstumbling down to the Common Room.

 

Harry rarely stayed at school during Hogsmeade weekends, and the emptiness was jarring. There was a handful of first and second years milling around, too young to be allowed off-property anyway, and one or two seventh years cramming for their NEWT's, but other than that it was just him. And--

 

“Ginny? What are you doing here still?”

 

The ginger in question looked up from the glossy magazine between her fingers and grinned at him. “Harry! I was waiting for you!” She tossed the magazine aside and rose to meet him. “I thought we could spend the day together,” she suggested.

 

Harry floundered for a moment before nodding uncertainly. “I-- Yeah, that sounds great, Gin.” He gave her a small, sleepy smile and hugged her close when she reached out for him. He silently revelled in the feeling of her body pressed into his own, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her lips glistened with some kind of fruity gloss that he could smell from this close, could feel it slick against his cheek where she kissed him. There was a hint of apples that reminded him of Malfoy's cologne, but he quickly put that out of his mind.

 

Suddenly the younger girl tensed, drawing away slightly. “Oh!” she exclaimed, fingers tracing the chords on his neck. “Harry, I am so sorry! I had no idea I'd sucked so hard!”

 

The brunet was confused for a moment before he remembered how viciously Malfoy had attacked him the night before. He's completely forgotten about it, the thought of possible bruises never crossing his mind.

 

“Shit,” he swore under his breath and brought his hand up to feel the area, wincing when he put pressure on a particularly tender bruise. “Are they very bad?” he asked, guilt bubbling up in his chest at the knowledge that they weren't Ginny's mark she was worrying over.

 

Ginny sucked her teeth, staring for a moment before looking up at Harry with a wince, her own eyes shining with guilty remorse, though Harry had no idea how to assuage her without confessing his rendezvous with Malfoy. He doubted she would understand.

 

“A bit, yeah. They're... wow. I mean, I am _really_ sorry, Harry. I honestly don't know what came over me. You're going to need to glamour them for a few days. Maybe even a few _weeks_ , unless you want to get some salve from the infirmary,” Ginny paused for a moment, fingers tentatively brushing over one particularly dark bruise. “Although, personally I think you should keep them. They look quite fetching, I think. I wouldn't mind looking at them,” she grinned up at him. “Maybe they'll keep through the end of the year and you can have something to remember me by over the summer!”

 

Harry flushed, covering his neck with his palm. “Ah-hah... Yeah, maybe. We'll have to see. They'll probably be gone long before then, though.” Ginny shrugged, but eyed his neck doubtfully.

 

“Anyway,” she changed the subject, “I was thinking we could play a Seeker's game, if you were up for it?”

 

At that, Harry perked up. He had missed the last game of the season, a fact he had mourned for days. A good fly sounded perfect, especially on a day like this. “Sounds perfect! D'you want to go with me down to the kitchens so I can grab some breakfast first? Then we can head out; use the brooms in the Quidditch shed.”

 

Ginny nodded enthusiastically, pulling Harry by the hand, leading them out the portrait-hole.

 

-

 

Draco woke refreshed in a facsimile of his own, wide bed, improbable sunlight streaming through an artificial window. He could already tell that he'd overslept, but it was Saturday, so he didn't bother rushing. He lounged for a bit longer, relishing in his ability to relax in quiet, unbothered by dorm-mates or stress. He still felt loose limbed from last night and was reluctant to move, less the tension return. He knew he had to go back to Slytherin eventually, since he had no clean clothes available, but Severus had suggested the day before that he take the day off working on the Vanishing Cabinet, and with his homework caught up, he had no pressing obligations to tend to.

 

In the end he got up sooner than he planned, dressing in naught but his shirtsleeves and trousers, slipping his shoes over his bare feet, underclothes bundled into his bag to be delivered to the house-elves. He decided to bathe back in the dungeons, refusing to don dirty clothes even for the brief journey downstairs.

 

He ran into no one on the way down, the castle nearly abandoned, and upon arrival he quickly darted down to his dormitory, depositing his clothes in the laundry, and bounding naked to the showers.

 

He stepped into one of the private cubicles (the one he'd claimed back in first year) and set the water to scalding. He hadn't actually washed himself in his bath last night and had sweat and dirt to scrub off; he felt disgusting. His soaps were already set up and he reached for the conditioning shampoo. The clean, neutral scent of the liquid wafted up in the steam filled space as he deposited a dollop into his palm before lathering his hair. He scrubbed his hair, short nails scratching at his scalp, working the soap to the skin.

 

Leaving the shampoo to sit for a moment he soaped up an ex-foliating sponge and washed himself. He reached behind him to start, working his back and shoulders, the movement coupled with the heat of the pounding water massaging his tense muscles. Moving around to the front, he quickly washed his arms, scrubbing thoroughly underneath them before rubbing large, wide circles down his chest and stomach.

 

He repeated the process on his legs, working harder on his knees and the bottoms of his feet to rid himself of dirt and sweat and stink. At last he moved to his groin, lathering the hair at the base of his cock, working the soap into the crease of his groin and behind his bollocks, gentle on his shaft. He pulled at his foreskin, unveiling the tip to the ministrations of his sponge, soapy finger softly cleaning the hood.

 

Finally his hand darted between his legs, scrubbing his cheeks and the space between them.

 

Afterwards he wrung out his sponge and rinsed his hair. He let the water flow through his pale locks until they squeaked, tilting his head to scratch at his hairline, unwilling to miss any spots of shampoo. He rinsed his body with much less reverence, turning into the spray and brushing the soap off his skin. His hands caught the rivulets of water as they flowed down his back, splashing and rubbing them into the soapy crevices of his arse and groin.

 

Skin pink but otherwise clean, Draco turned off the water and slung a soft towel around his waist.

 

After brushing his teeth and combing his hair back, he pulled on a vest before shrugging on a short-sleeved shirt, adding a casual waistcoat, unbuttoned, before folding his collar down. A soft pair of grey trousers and a pair of low-top leather shoes finished off the outfit, and he felt like himself for the first time all year.

 

Head held high he confidently sauntered up to the kitchens for breakfast, rounding the corner to the corridor just as a familiar dark head disappeared into the doorway after the flaming ponytail belonging to who Draco could only assume was the Weaslette. Slowing, he quietly followed behind them, careful not to draw attention to himself.

 

Apparently Potter had slept as late as he, himself had and was only just now catching his first meal of the day. Draco slipped into a shadowed nook behind the Kitchen door, listening without being seen.

 

“I'll be quick, I promise,” Potter assured, “I'm just grabbing some toast and jam.” Merlin, no wonder the boy was so thin, if that's all he ate. Didn't it go against some code of honour for the Weasley matriarch not to feed up the poor child?

 

“Oh, there's no rush!” Weasley responded eagerly, “We have all day. The pitch isn't going anywhere.” She giggled and Draco rolled his eyes, gagging.

 

They chatted and flirted grossly for a few minutes, presumably while Potter fixed himself some 'toast and jam', and Draco was debating just coming out and going in since they weren't doing anything interesting anyway, when suddenly he heard Potter yelp.

 

“Hey!” he protested, and there was a scuffle. Draco peeked through the crack in the door-frame, seeing that the Weaslette had stolen a purple-coated piece of bread, one corner bitten off, and she was now running around the room away from Harry who was attempting to take it back from her.

 

 _'Now that's just rude,_ ' Draco thought. He's thin enough already, you can't take what little he _does_ eat away from him. And he's poorer than the Weasley's are even (he knows the Potters have nearly as much money as his own family does, but he's not sure Potter realises he's actually allowed to _spend_ it); stealing from him is just unsportsmanlike. Draco scowled as Potter fought to take his food back, huffing when the ginger stole a berry-flavoured kiss ass well.

 

Ugh.

 

Food-fight won, the two noisily made there way out of the room heading, Draco assumed, toward the Quidditch pitch.

 

He waited until they were no longer visible before heading into the kitchen himself, snatching a bread-roll and some cheeses, pocketing an apple as he followed the couple out to the pitch.

 

He had nothing else to do today.

 

-

 

By the time he made it to the pitch, the two Gryffindors were already in the air. Draco cast a quick disillusionment spell and found a dark corner to watch from, keeping himself out of sight.

 

It was clear that the lovers weren't paying much attention to the snitch, instead whizzing by overhead in a game of cat-and-mouse, each one chasing the other. The Weaslette raced ahead, leaning her slight body nearly flush against her broomstick. Unfortunately for her, the two seekers were of a size, and Potter, clearly the superior racer, caught up to her fast before eventually overtaking her.

 

The girl let out an unseemly squeal and attempted to give chase, though never quite reaching the older boy. Potter, now simply showing off, began twisting in the air, spiralling forward in swirling corkscrews before whooping loudly and sharply turning back the way he came.

 

Weasley had stopped, now simply watching as Potter dominated the air, enjoying the adrenalin and the freedom of flight.

 

Draco took a crisp bite out of his apple, watching Potter as he played a while longer. Suddenly, the Weaslette darted off to the side, jarring Draco and Harry himself from the game. Draco squinted his eyes then hummed, catching sight of the snitch the ginger had obviously seen. Potter realised this as well and followed, carefree attitude gone now in place of competitive concentration.

 

Again, Potter took the lead, Weasley at his shoulder as they both chased the tiny golden ball. They circled this pitch in sync, each move matched by the other as the snitch led them round and round, through the hoop on the far end of the field, then up, and up, and up and up until Draco could hardly see them any more.

 

And then it fell.

 

The two seekers were thrown off, stumbling to turn a full 180 degrees, plummeting back to Earth, arms outstretched to catch the snitch.

 

Draco started to get a little nervous as the snitch fell nearer and nearer the ground, no sign of changing direction.

 

The Weaslette quit about 30 feet above the ground.

 

“Leave it!” she called out to Potter who definitely didn't leave it.

 

Twenty feet.

 

Ten feet.

 

So close to the ground he probably could have just jumped off and chased the bloody thing on foot, to say nothing for the fact that he was about to impale his broomstick into the green when he sharply righted himself before hooking his ankles around the shaft and spinning himself upside down, hanging from his legs as he reached above his head, catching the snitch in one hand and clutching at the grass with the other.

 

Draco gaped.

 

Half Wronski-feint, half pure Potter recklessness, no professional would ever dare a move like that. The fact that Potter himself managed it was both incredibly improbable, uncanny, and entirely expected, considering. Draco half-wished he had been able to record it, flushing with second-hand pride at the success of the manoeuvre. Not for the first time he wished Potter had been sorted into Slytherin so he could take Draco's place as Seeker, allowing Draco to be a chaser (which he was generally better at than seeking, to be honest). They'd never lose.

 

He sighed wistfully, then winced as Weasley screamed, dismantling her broom to attack Potter on the field. He couldn't quite hear what she was saying, but he could see her kissing the boy's cheeks before finally setting on his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him into a deep snog.

 

Draco sneered in possessive jealousy, fingers twitching to hex the chit who had her bloody paws all over what belonged to him. Unfortunately, he well understood that he, himself was the interloper, and until the Gryffindorks split (and Draco's life and livelihood was no longer in mortal danger), Draco had no place with Harry Potter beyond their weekly trysts.

 

The Slytherin angrily finished off his apple, which had sat forgotten in his hand while he watched Potter's impossible flying skills. As he chewed, he saw Weasley drag Harry under the bleachers and out of sight.

 

Were they really..?

 

Shit.

 

-

 

Harry pulled away, gasping, grinning as Ginny pulled him onto the ground underneath the bleachers. He was still floating high on the adrenalin of their Seeker's game, blood buzzing with energy. Ginny pressed soft kisses to the harsh bruises on his neck, careful not to make them any worse as she slid her warm hands up his stomach, pulling his t-shirt up along with them.

 

Harry helped her out, reaching behind him to pull the offending item up over his head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. Ginny followed suit, stomach sucking inwards as she heaved her shirt off, shimmying her shorts down and off her slender legs, leaving her naked but for the sleek red and black bra strapped to her chest. Harry blushed at the sight of the sprinkling of orange hair between her legs. He hadn't been able to see her well last night in the dark of his bed, but in the bright afternoon, even here under the shade, it was bright and striking (' _like a poisonous flower_ ,' he thought before banishing it after realising that that sounded kind of terrible and somewhat insulting. What else is bright and colourful? Peacock feathers. That's not insulting, is it? He didn't know, and why was he even still wondering about this?!).

 

Ginny smiled beseechingly, holding her hand out to him as she lay back on her discarded shirt, knees pulled up with her feet braced on the ground, parted to allow him access. Gulping, he crawled between them, kneeling over her.

 

“Are you gonna take your trousers off any time soon, Harry?” she asked, jokingly.

 

“Uhm,” he stuttered, “Yeah. Of course – shit, yeah, hold on.” He fumbled with his trousers, pushing them down around his thighs. He wasn't hard yet, but Ginny took it upon herself to rectify that, soft hand wrapping itself around his length and tugging.

 

“Unng...” Harry groaned softly, bowing over.

 

Ginny worked him up to full hardness then pulled a small foil-wrapped square from her bra. Harry blinked in surprise.

 

“You planned this,” he accused without ire. She shrugged.

 

“I'd hoped.”

 

Ginny ripped the package open with her teeth, pulling out a red and white swirled membrane which she expertly slid down his shaft. Harry gasped at the slick warming sensation and the way the red spiral seemed to swirl down the length of his cock. He imagined how it must feel from Ginny's end.

 

“That's it,” Ginny grinned, laying back and spreading her legs. “Alright,” she said, her fingers sliding along her wet slit, fingers pumping in a little, playing with herself.

 

Harry caught the cue given him and shuffled forward, breathing heavily with nerves. He gripped the base of his cock, shivering as the swirling condom moved under his fingertips, and lined himself up with Ginny's cunt.

 

Slowly, he pushed inside, biting his lip against the desperate groan building within him. Ginny didn't bother, sighing as he slid inside her, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Go on,” she urged.

 

Harry obeyed, setting a steady pace, though his stomach quivered with the effort. Ginny arched her back, digging her heels into his arse. He watched as she closed her eyes, mouth releasing tiny, satisfied noises.

 

“Go faster!” she begged, so he did, speeding up until Ginny let her head fall back, a long moan spilling from her lips.

 

“Shit,” she swore, “right there--! Keep... just there! C'mon, Harry, fuck me!”

 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to come, working to keep the angle Ginny had liked. Sweat dripped into his eye and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, blinking it clear when he saw something shimmer in his periphery.

 

Looking over Ginny's head, he gasped at the sight of Malfoy leaning against one of the supporting beams, body overlaid with an magical iridescence that said the Slytherin had disillusioned himself. The other boy blinked when Harry caught his eye, tensing before intentionally palming the bulge in his trousers, drawing Harry's eyes downwards.

 

“Harry? What's wrong?” Ginny's voice brought his attention back and he realised that he had stopped moving.

 

“Oh, uhm... nothing, I was just trying not to come,” he huffed a breathless laugh which Ginny returned.

 

“Oh. Well, are you okay now?” she asked eagerly, rocking her hips up, trying to fuck herself. “'Cos I really want you to fuck me, please.”

 

“Yes, Ma'am,” he joked, resuming his pace, eyes flicking back up to where Malfoy still stood in the distance. He had undone his trousers, cock hanging heavy through the gap of his open fly. Harry compulsively licked his lips, eyes locked on Malfoy's had which striped him in long, slow movements that Harry matched unconsciously with his hips.

 

Harry was mesmerised when the small patch of sunlight caught the pale blond hair between the Slytherin's legs, and he moaned when the glow illuminated a fat bead of precome pearling at the tip of his cock. Malfoy's hand caught it and slicked himself as he sped up, Harry following the rhythm.

 

Ginny's hands scrabbled at his back, her hips moving to meet his own. “Oh! Harry!” She squeezed his prick and Harry lost it, keening as his hips stuttered and he came, filling the condom, hips still thrusting through his orgasm.

 

Ginny kept squeezing, grinding herself down on him as he throbbed inside her, finally taking her pleasure just as Harry was starting to soften.

 

Harry panted, meeting Malfoy's eyes as he zipped himself back up, still hard. The blond jerked his head in the direction of the Ravenclaw locker rooms before disappearing.

 

“Fuck,” the brunet groaned.

 

Ginny giggled breathlessly. “Not bad for your first time,” she praised.

 

Harry quirked a smile. “Thanks.”

 

The ginger pulled her shirt on, digging around for her knickers as Harry discarded the condom and pulled his trousers back up. “You've just got to relax a bit. Don't worry so much. I promise... I can take whatever you dish out,” she leered at him from under her pale lashes and he blushed, or he would have were he not already flushed with exertion.

 

“I was trying to make it good for you,” he excused, and Ginny shook her head in exasperation.

 

“What _I_ want, is for you to take what _you_ want. I like it a little rough,” she admitted.

 

Harry nodded, a wry smile at his mouth. “All right then, fair enough.”

 

The two stood, dressed, if a bit mussed and Harry pointed his thumb over his shoulder, his other hand nervously pushing into his pocket. “Uhm... I've to use the loo,” he lied.

 

Ginny nodded, taking his hand. “Yeah, me too,” and she led the way to the Ravenclaw changing rooms.

 

-

 

Harry ducked into the Boy's room as Ginny disappeared into the girl's and as soon as the door was closed, Harry found himself pushed up against the wall, fingers twisted painfully in his hair as a mouth harshly attacked his own in a bruising kiss.

 

Harry moaned as Malfoy pressed himself into his front, the hard ridge of his cock pressing into Harry's stomach. Deft fingers traced his chin then moved downwards, thumb stroking the column of his throat while his fingers probed the tender bruises lining the side of his neck. The brunet whimpered at one particularly painful jab and was rewarded with a deep, throaty groan from Malfoy.

 

The blond drew away, pale grey eyes dark with lust, brows set sternly. His fingers never let up on Harry's fringe, keeping his head back, neck bared.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry protested. “I can't--”

 

“Shhh,” the Slytherin hushed, softly meeting his lips again, licking at the abused flesh, “yes you can.”

 

With that he pushed and Harry fell, knees banging painfully into the tile floor.

 

“Ow! Fuck! Quit doing that!” Harry admonished angrily, though Malfoy only rolled his eyes.

 

“Whatever,” he said non-committally. Harry huffed in frustration, but his eyes caught the way the front of Malfoy's trousers strained, noticing from his vantage point that they weren't really fastened at all.

 

Sighing wearily, Harry pulls them down, letting them pool around Malfoy's pale ankles before dragging his tight, black shorts down along with them. His cock, still hard and throbbing bobbed forward and Harry caught it in his hand before feeding it between his lips, inhaling the now-familiar smell of Malfoy's sex.

 

Malfoy grunted and stilled his head, instead thrusting into his mouth.

 

The movements were slow but not shallow, sliding into the back of Harry's throat, pushing Harry's nose into the patch of hair at his base. The Gryffindor couldn't help but think back, picturing the way the sun lit up the thin strands and he groaned, the sound vibrating around Malfoy who cried out quietly.

 

Harry brought his hands up feeling Malfoy flex under his fingers, muscles moving sinuously as he pumped his hips.

 

He didn't last long and soon spilled his seed on Harry's tongue, not even having the courtesy to come down his throat. Harry pursed his lips in annoyance when Malfoy withdrew, swallowing the load and rocking up onto his feet.

 

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “What was that about?” he demanded. “I just saw you yesterday!”  
  
Malfoy bent over to pull his trousers back up. “So you can ask me two questions next week,” he offered magnanimously. “I just wanted to get the taste of Weaslette out of your mouth.”

 

Harry gaped. Malfoy winked and turned him around by the shoulder, slapping him on the ass before opening the door and, invisibly, pushing him into Ginny.

 

“Oomph!” Ginny voiced as he ran into her.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, glaring behind him as Malfoy retreated, rubbing his stinging arse. “Let's go.”


	7. Point of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry asks two questions for the price of one, and comes back with even more, while Draco does his damnedest to rid Harry of the rest of his virginity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partially inspired by [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7b/d9/5a/7bd95aecd03b0ef99580e017b0f1e840.jpg) fan-theory, which I really like. And a random piece of dialogue I wrote on a note on my cellphone forever ago. 
> 
> APPARENTLY that last chapter? Was NOWHERE in my plan for this story. And according to my plan, I actually threw everything off by a week, because Draco was supposed to have taken Harry's virginity, not Ginny, and now I have to add a new chapter. 
> 
> SO! Please give me ideas for what you would like to see for Draco's birthday next chapter!

Harry entered the room of requirement a full half an hour early in order to avoid being late again, and blinked when he recognised the setting as Malfoy's rooms at Malfoy Manor; the same rooms they had met in last week.

 

"Malfoy?" Harry called, receiving no answer. He shrugged and set his bag down, taking the opportunity to explore the rest of the suite, wondering if it really was the same beyond the sitting area; if the Room remembered Malfoy's request, or merely catered to Harry's own memories and imaginings beyond what he had seen before.

 

The entire suite was painted a pale grey with wide, white trim and detailed moulding. The sofas were white and all the wood was black, lending the room a sleek but airy grey-scale, though he was surprised to note several shades of purple and blue as well, from the drapes to the rug and cushions, as well as several other accent pieces (Harry was actually a little surprised and disappointed at the lack of green in the Slytherin's bedroom, especially since Harry secretly liked the Slytherin colours, though he would never tell Ron that.). The room was empty but for the furniture, though Harry couldn't tell if that was Malfoy's preference or if the room simply couldn't recreate a more detailed replica.

 

The lounge wasn't rectangular, and was, instead, somewhat hexagonal, though one panel opened into a detailed arch leading out of the living area. Harry roamed over to it and peered through to see a connecting archway leading into a bright, cavernous en-suite (that was more than likely bigger even than Dudley's second bedroom, now his own, back on Privet drive), and that both entries led to an elegant, dark bedroom.

 

The bedroom carried the same theme as the living room, from the wall-colours and black, lacquered wood, to the shades of purple, but the furnishings were massive and overwhelming, making the room seem rich and gothic. The bed was what drew Harry's attention, though. It was possibly the biggest beds he had ever seen, and he spared a thought to wonder whether his parents' bed would have been even larger. It had tall posts and a wooden canopy top with no curtains; the sheets and mountain of pillows done up in silky black, with a deep plum coloured duvet and black fur draped over the end.

 

It was the most comfortable looking thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

 

Harry looked over his shoulder, half-expecting Malfoy to saunter in self-importantly, but he was still early, and Malfoy had yet to arrive so he took a chance and climbed onto the bed.

 

It was blissful, and every bit as comfortable as he thought it would be.

 

Harry sighed and let his eyes fall shut, enjoying the peaceful, cosy silence. No snoring boys. _Beyond_ plenty of room to spread out. A comfortable mattress that he sunk into like it was made for him (which it might have been, he wasn't sure). 

 

Relaxed and comfortable as he was, and with the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight, Harry barely noticed as he drifted to sleep. 

 

-

 

“Potter?” 

 

Harry startled awake, blearily pushing himself upright to see Malfoy standing under the arch, Harry's rucksack slung over his shoulder as he stared in bewilderment. 

 

“Hey. Malfoy,” Harry cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, willing himself to wake back up. “Sorry, I fell asleep,” he excused needlessly. 

 

“Yeah,” the Slytherin nodded, an unusual expression on his face, “I noticed. Why are you in here?”

 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Your bed looked really comfortable – this is your bed, right?” 

 

Malfoy still looked confused. “Yeah... it is. The real one's better, though --” 

 

“It gets better than this?!” Harry interrupted, looking around himself incredulously.

 

The blond snorted. “Oh Sweetheart...” he said condescendingly, “You have no idea.” He shook his head. “Anyway,” he continued, “I meant: why are you in my bedroom at all? Did you actually Require  _my rooms_ , all on your own?” 

 

Harry blushed. “I didn't do it on purpose! I just asked for a place to meet up, and the Room did this,” he gestured his hand around the room. The Slytherin pinched his lips together, obviously trying to repress amusement. 

 

“Uh-huh.” Malfoy held Harry's bag up pointedly, “So are we doing this or not? Did you remember the Veritaserum this time?” 

 

The Gryffindor scowled, but nodded, holding his hand out, obstinately refusing to get up off the bed. Malfoy didn't say anything about it, though, instead simply handing him the rucksack before climbing up onto the bed with him, sitting cross legged at the foot across from him. Harry noticed Malfoy had his shoes off, feet clad in a thin pair of black trouser socks that somehow made him look more vulnerable than when he had been completely naked. 

 

He blinked and turned away, digging through his bag for the vial of potion which he tossed to Malfoy who caught it one handed. The Slytherin uncorked it and sprinkled a few drops onto his tongue, rapidly shaking his head to dispel the taste and the affect of the magic. 

 

“Alright, I'm ready,” he said after a moment.

 

Harry took a deep breath.

 

“Okay, so, not that I think you really know anything about it, but... What do you know about the Horcruxes?” He bit his lip, fisting his hands in the bedspread as Malfoy looked into the distance, thinking hard about how to answer.

 

“I... don't know what that is, so I can't say,” he responded eventually. 

 

Harry scowled a little in disappointment, but he didn't really expect anything else. 

 

“It's like... Like... Like, the diary your father gave to Ginny, back in second year, do you remember?” he tried to explain without going further into detail. 

 

Apparently he did remember, eyes widening in recognition, lips curling into a silent 'oh'. “I remember the book, but I didn't know anything about it, or anything like it, except that it would be used to release the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets.”

 

Harry was shocked. “You  _knew_ about the basilisk?!”

 

Malfoy nodded. “I knew it was going to be released somehow, and that the book had something to do with it, yeah.”

 

“And you didn't say anything?!” 

 

The Slytherin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Slytherins do little else but gossip, Potter, and I'm a high-profile member, even back then. Every move I made was observed, reported back to everyone else in Slytherin, which would then get back to their parents, which would get back to _my_ parents-- There's very little concept of secrecy there. If I were to make any overt efforts to warn you or do anything, it would almost certainly get back to my parents and the rest of the Inner Circle, which I couldn't risk,” he explained impatiently.  “Besides, I _did_ try to warn you – _and_ I gave Granger information; what more did you expect?”

 

“What information?” Harry asked, disbelieving. “You never warned us about anything!”

 

Malfoy blinked innocently. “I gave her a page of information on basilisks. I mean, not personally, of course, but I got it to her. And I sent Dobby to warn you back before school even started!” he argued, flinging his arm out in reference to his former-house elf. 

 

The Gryffindor could barely breathe. “ _ You _ sent Dobby to my house? And, that sheet of paper Hermione was clutching in her hand, that was  _ you _ ?” Draco nodded. 

 

“Why would you do that for me? You  _ hate _ me! I would have thought you'd  _ want _ the bloody snake to eat all the 'Mudbloods'” Harry mimicked the slur hatefully, confused and unable to reconcile Malfoy's supposed actions (and he must have been telling the truth, he took the Veritaserum) with what he knew about the Slytherin. 

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “I don't hate you,” he explained honestly, though his expression was somewhat pained. “I was  _ jealous _ of all the attention you got for something you didn't even  _ do _ , and for the  _ blatant _ house-favouritism that goes on at this school – You can be damn sure that not even  _ you _ would have been made Seeker in your first year if you had been sorted into Slytherin; that was purely by virtue of being a Gryffindor that that happened, because Dumbledore is a shite and unfair Headmaster.” 

 

“Hey!” Harry interjected on behalf of his mentor, but Malfoy continued on, ignoring him.

 

“And my  _ feelings _ ” he spit the word out as if it tasted bad, “were hurt when you turned down my offer of friendship first year, so I decided that if you wouldn't be my friend, you would be my rival.”

 

“You were a prick,” Harry objected.

 

“I was eleven!” Malfoy yelled, “I had a sheltered childhood! I dealt with you the way I was taught to deal with people; it wasn't my fault that you were beyond my realm of experience or expectation! Anyway,” he got himself back on track, “like you said before: I might not have liked you, but I didn't want you  _ dead _ .”

 

“Oh...” Harry didn't know what to say. “Well, thanks, Malfoy... That's... very fair of you,” he acknowledge awkwardly. 

 

The Slytherin shrugged uncomfortably, a faint blush colouring his high cheekbones, eager to leave the topic behind. 

 

“Was that your only question?” he prompted, and Harry startled inwardly, having nearly forgotten.

 

“Oh! No, uhm...” he looked carefully at the blond who gazed placidly back at him. Considering what he had learned, he found it difficult to ask what he had originally intended, unwilling to break their fragile truce. 

 

“Your task... are you... You're trying to kill Dumbledore, aren't you?”

 

Malfoy inhaled sharply and opened his mouth, though nothing came out. He paused and reworked his jaw, rolling unvoiced words around in his mouth but unable to speak them. 

 

“I can neither confirm not deny,” he evaded eventually.

 

Harry bristled, ice spiking through his veins. “So that's a 'yes' then,” he extrapolated. 

 

Draco shook his head. “No, it means I can  _ neither _ confirm nor deny. You're asking for specifics and I can't answer one way or the other. My vow won't allow it.”

 

Harry deflated, both disappointed at being unable to get a straight answer, and relieved not to get the confirmation he was expecting, though the suspicion remained. 

 

He thought Malfoy looked relieved as well.

 

“Anything else?” the blond inquired, and Harry shook his head 'no'.  
  
“No, that's it. Just... what will happen when you complete your tasks?” he asked, quietly fearful. 

 

Malfoy sobered, and suddenly Harry could see the weight of the stress he was carrying. 

 

“I don't know,” he answered solemnly. “The beginning of the end, probably. Nothing good in any case.” 

 

“Will people be hurt?” Harry wondered in spite of himself, but Draco could only shrug, helpless. 

 

A tense silence befell them that Harry didn't know how to break. 

 

Malfoy breathed in shakily and rustled around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a thin metal case. He opened it to reveal several long, thin, brown paper rolls. 

 

“Are those cigarettes?” Harry asked as Malfoy brought one up between his lips, tapping the end of it with his wand. 

 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, inhaling the smoke before releasing it with a thin moan of pleasure-tinged relief. 

 

“Since when do you smoke?” Harry had been (stalking) paying close attention to the Slytherin over the course of the year, and had never noticed the habit. 

 

“I only started a couple of weeks ago,” he answered, which explained why Harry hadn't noticed. “These are the good kind, though,” he explained, “I bought 'em off a seventh year. They're treacle toffee flavoured. You'd like them.” 

 

The brunet shook his head. “I don't smoke.” 

 

Draco only shrugged.

 

“No, but you love treacle,” he reasoned, and Harry wondered how he knew that, but figured it was pretty common Harry Potter trivia. 

 

It was probably written in his biography in the Prophet. 

 

“Here,” Malfoy offered, and Harry was about to refuse, thinking he was about to pass it over, but instead Malfoy rocked forward onto his knees and leaned into Harry's space, the hand not dangling the cigarette between his long fingers wrapped around his jaw. “You don't have to inhale – just let it fill your mouth. Taste it...” the words were murmured softly against his lips. He turned to the side, taking a long drag then pressing his lips to Harry's own, blowing the smoke slowly between Harry's parted lips. 

 

Harry inhaled accidentally, sputtering a cough, blowing the sweet vapour back out in a cloud that hung around their heads. Draco laughed at him, mirth swimming in his grey eyes before he brought their lips back together in a proper kiss.

 

For once it wasn't hard and forceful. It was heated and sensual, but slow and Harry found himself melting into it instead of fighting against it, their lips and tongues sliding slickly together.

 

“Shit!” Draco pulled away and Harry was almost worried something was wrong, but he only flicked his wrist, magically extinguishing the cherry on his fag before depositing it on a side table and turning his attention back to the Gryffindor. 

 

Malfoy pushed him back down into the pillows, settling between his legs. He stretched his body over Harry's own, covering him completely, holding his weight on his forearms as he dipped back down to kiss him again. 

 

The brunet was embarrassed to notice that he was getting hard, a fact that was impossible for the Slytherin above him to miss, considering it was pressing into his hip. 

 

The older boy smirked against Harry's lips and rocked into the cradle of Harry's hips. His tongue licked into Harry's mouth, moving in the same rhythm that he ground himself against Harry's prick and Harry couldn't help but move back against him, wrapping one leg around the Slytherin for leverage. 

 

He mewled in disappointment before he could stop himself, the sound making Malfoy visibly preen as he rucked Harry's shirt up under his armpits and forcibly tugged his trousers and boxer shorts off. Harry gasped at the feeling of the cool air on his cock, and his hips bucked up, blissfully meeting Malfoy's hand as he wrapped it around him, pumping. 

 

The Gryffindor wailed, legs butterflying open as Malfoy slithered down his body. Harry let his eyes shut and his head crash into the mound of pillows, thrusting his hips into the now-familiar circle of Malfoy's fist. 

 

And then he yelped at the distinctly  _ un _ familiar sensation of magic shooting inside him, a cold wand point pressed against his arsehole. 

 

“Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ, Malfoy! What the  _ fuck _ ?!” he shrieked, scurrying backwards before Malfoy grabbed hold of his ankles and pulled him back.

 

“Bloody Hell, Potter, relax. It's just a cleaning spell. Completely harmless,” the blond assured, plucking a pillow from the hoard. 

 

“I'm clean enough!” Harry complained. 

 

Draco snorted. “I'm not putting my mouth there on your assurance that it's 'clean enough'.”

 

Putting his mouth...?

 

“What are you doing with your mouth?” he asked wearily, and Draco grinned, all teeth. 

 

“I'm going to lick you open and then I'm going to fuck you. Lift your hips so I can get this cushion under. Unless you want to roll onto your stomach; it's more comfortable that way. Your choice.”

 

Harry froze, a sliver of fear shivering down his spine. 

 

Malfoy noticed and his gaze softened a little. “Hey,” he palmed Harry's hip soothingly, voice casual, “I know what I'm doing, it's not going to hurt. You'll like it, I promise.”

 

Harry relaxed a bit, knowing that Malfoy was still unable to lie, but the idea of Malfoy doing  _ that _ to him still made him uncomfortable. 

 

“Why does it matter to you?” he asked, withdrawing a bit. “We made a deal, it doesn't really matter if I get off – it's about your pleasure, not mine. What does it matter if I like it or not?”

 

Draco looked distressed by that. “I'm not that much of an prick, Potter. Merlin. I'm not going to force you if it makes you uncomfortable.”

 

Harry shook his head, clarifying. “It's not that I think you're going to hurt me or anything, really, just... this is for you, so you don't have to go through all the effort to make sure I 'like it' or whatever. Just... you know... get it over with.”  
  
“Absolutely not!” Malfoy objected. “Being a good lover is a point of pride for me.”

 

The Gryffindor shrugged, feeling vulnerable. “Yeah but no one's gonna know about it. I mean, I'm not gonna tell everyone how great you are, and I wouldn't have said if you were shite either, so I don't know why it matters to your reputation.”

 

“You'll know.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “So what? You just want me to look back 'fondly' on this memory then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused by Malfoy's behaviour. It's like the Draco Malfoy in this room was a completely different entity to the Slytherin bully he'd known for the last six years. 

 

Malfoy let his hand drift down to the crease of Harry's groin. “Because it's your first time and I want to take advantage of that.”

 

“Actually, Ginny was my first,” Harry reminded him, ignoring how his heart rate increased.

 

“Not in this.”

 

“Are you going to brag about it to all your friends?” Harry wouldn't put it past him, normally, but who the hell knows any more?

 

The Slytherin scoffed derisively. “Even if I  _ did _ tell anyone, do you seriously think they would actually  _ believe _ me?”

 

“So, what then?”

 

“I'm a Malfoy,” the blond shrugged, as if that answered anything.

 

“Because 'Malfoy' is synonymous with being an arsehole and liking to fuck with people?” Harry sneered. 

 

“Big word, did Granger teach you that one?” he curled his lip back at him before elucidating. “Because to a Malfoy 'wanting' is synonymous with 'having', and we're incredibly possessive of what's ours. I want you, so I'll take you any way I can get you for as long as I can keep you. I want you to know that no matter what happens and no matter what  _ He _ takes from me, he can never take away the fact that you were mine, once. That no matter what you choose to do with your stupid, miserable life, you'll always remember that I was the first one to make you cum. I was the first boy, and the first to ever really fuck you. And that you liked it.”

 

By the end Draco's chest was heaving, a dark blush trailing down his neck, belying the fact that he had revealed far more than he had intended thanks to the truth serum still coursing his veins, too distracted to resist the compulsion to spill everything. 

 

The two boys stared at each other in tense silence before Draco drew closer, watching for any sign of protest. Receiving none, he pressed a firm, if chaste, kiss to Harry's lips, eyes open to watch Harry's reaction.

 

The brunet said nothing but didn't push him away, so he kissed him again, softer, pressing kisses down his neck, thumbs flicking his nipples, hardened in the draft of the room. He got sloppier the lower he went; an open mouthed suck to the curve of his ribcage, tongue swirling his bellybutton, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of his lower belly. 

 

He pulled the pillow over and Harry lifted his hips obligingly this time, no more complaints to be had. 

 

Harry stared at the Slytherin between his legs, allowing himself to be manoeuvred this way and that until his legs were pushed up to his chest, baring himself completely to the other boy. In light of all the truths Malfoy had shared tonight, voluntary or not, Harry was willing to grant him the benefit of the doubt. 

 

And he couldn't deny that it felt...  _ good _ ... to be wanted the way that Malfoy seemed to want him. To have someone be so possessive of him. Arousal pooled hot in his stomach and, on impulse, he removed the glamours he had been wearing over the bruises on his neck, the marks still dark and vibrant against his skin. 

 

“I thought you would have healed those by now,” Malfoy conjectured, but Harry shook his head.

 

“Just a glamour,” he explained, though the proof was self evident. 

 

Grey eyes sparked. “Do you like them?”

 

Harry blushed and turned his head away evasively. Malfoy nipped at his stomach again, harder this time to catch his attention.

 

“Do you like being marked up, Harry?” he asked again, and Harry's cock twitched. 

 

“Yes,” he ground out, clenching his eyes shut. 

 

“Brilliant,” Malfoy murmured. 

 

Harry kept his eyes shut when he felt Malfoy's hot breath on his arse, precome dripping from his cock. Then he felt something warm and wet, an insistent pressure that swiped the length of his crack before zeroing in on the furl of muscle at the centre. Harry let out a startled moan, keening as the pressure increased, tongue lapping at his hole. 

 

“Fuck,” he swore breathily, hole fluttering. Malfoy chuckled before pushing his tongue inside, licking his walls then withdrawing, fucking him with his tongue in a mimicry of what he promised to do to him. 

 

Harry's cock was leaking steadily in spite of the lack of attention to it and Harry felt his hips buck up into the Slytherin's waiting mouth, internal muscles clenching to take the slick appendage in deeper. 

 

Malfoy licked at him fervently, sucking and swirling his tongue, wet, slurping noises filling the air that reminded Harry of when he'd gone down on Ginny. He wondered if this is what she felt like then, and decided that boys were stupid not to take advantage of this kind of pleasure. 

 

Suddenly a finger slipped inside, Malfoy's mouth sucking on his tight bollocks. 

 

“Ooohh...!” Harry cried out, hips hitching. 

 

“That's it,” Malfoy praised, a second finger slipping inside. The stretch was more but not overwhelming, Malfoy's tongue having relaxed and lubricated him sufficiently. The two fingers fucked him, scissoring him open more. The blond licked between his parted fingers. “Feel free to come any time you want, by the way,” he added before wriggling his tongue in alongside the digits inside him. 

 

His fingers grazed something in him that made light flash behind his eyes, pleasure spiking through his body. He sobbed at the extra stimulation, tears prickling his eyes. He wished he had the leverage to fuck himself back on Malfoy's fingers, but with his legs folded up against his chest, he was helpless to do anything but take what the Slytherin doled out. 

 

Draco pulled away, wiping his mouth and replacing his tongue with a third digit. They thrust in and out of him before relocating his prostate, mercilessly rubbing against it until Harry's back arched, thick ropes of come covering his chest. 

 

“Fucking shit,” Malfoy cursed under his breath in awe. “You are so fucking hot...!” he leaned up licking a path through the come before plundering his mouth. 

 

Harry was too shaky and uncoordinated to really kiss back, but then, Malfoy was too keyed up for anything resembling finesse. 

 

He pulled away, sitting up on his knees and hiking one of Harry's legs around his shoulders, the other curling around his waist. 

 

The blond slicked his hand silently with magic and guided his cock inside him and Harry whimpered, over-sensitive. Malfoy's cock was bigger than his three fingers, long and narrow that they were, but Harry was loose limbed enough that he opened up to him with minimal discomfort, the fullness overwhelming but not painful. Draco bottomed out in one smooth motion and withdrew without giving Harry a chance to adjust. He thrust hard and deep, rhythm slow and even, but Draco could only keep that up for a minute or two before his control wore away.

 

Soon he was snapping his hips fast and erratically, fingers squeezing Harry's waist bruisingly. He shrugged Harry's leg off and leaned forward, laying so they were chest to chest, Draco's nose buried in the sweat-slick curve of Harry's neck, breath hot against his skin with each grunting exhale. 

 

By this point, Harry was already hard again, and the friction of Draco's stomach rubbing and flexing against his cock was enough to put him back on the edge. He wrapped both legs around the other boy's waist to urge him on. 

 

Draco gave a dry sob against his throat, hips stuttering as he buried himself deeply inside him. The feeling of warm, wet heat filling him up, Draco's cock pulsing inside him sent him over for a second time and he spilled between them. 

 

Neither of them moved for a long time. They both lay panting as they came down, Harry running his hands up and down Draco's back as the sweat cooled, brushing the knobs of his spine with his fingertips. 

 

Eventually though, Draco pulled away, slipping out uncomfortably and Harry winced, cold and sore now that the endorphins were no longer masking the tinges of pain. The blond collapsed next to him.

 

“How was that?” he fished, voice hoarse and drowsy. 

 

“Alright, I guess,” Harry allowed, though Draco merely grinned. 

 

“T'was amazing then, as I thought,” he translated smugly. “Are you staying?”

 

Harry furrowed his brows. “The night?”

 

Draco nodded. 

 

“Um,” Harry really didn't want to get out of this bed any time soon. “Can I?”

 

The Slytherin blinked slowly and didn't answer, instead manoeuvring the duvet out from under them, tossing the pillow Harry's hips had been propped up on across the room, and arranging pulling the covers up around them both.

 

Harry took that as a yes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: What do y'all want to give Draco for his birthday???


	8. Just This Once (One More Time, and Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry slowly coming to realise that  
> a) He's kind of (really) a shite boyfriend  
> b) He might be a little bit gay  
> c) It's possible he may sorta, kinda fancy Draco, just a tad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I'm a day late, but that's to be expected from me, tbh
> 
> Thank you everyone for your suggestions on what to give Draco for his birthday and where to go with this chapter - I had to refer to the comments a few times while I was writing this, and I really did try to use your suggestions, which I hope you can tell below. 
> 
> SOME of them weren't possible since I'm trying to pretend to fit this into the canon timeline which means I can't have Harry help fix the cabinet and I can't have Ginny break up with Harry and mercifully inform him that he's hella gay, because I gotta go by the breakup scene in HBP, I'm sorry. Your suggestions would have made for a better story. Working with the canon just makes Harry kind of a douche (but that's pretty par for the course, I think).
> 
> I DID refer to a few of your suggestions, though, because this chapter was really hard to write. It was unplanned and I honestly did not have any idea where to go with it, so I just took some of the ideas I could work with and made shit up. Sorry if it's weird or unsatisfying, it's more or less a filler chapter, and it felt pretty rushed, honestly. 
> 
> Rest assured, I at least know where I'm going next chapter.

Harry woke up, blinking in the morning light blaring in through the artificial window. He winced and hid his face in his pillow as he became more aware of his surroundings.

 

First he noticed that he was not alone, mind helpfully flashing back to the night before, making him blush a bit. That Draco was in bed with him was not a surprise.

 

That he was completely wrapped around him; was.

 

Harry was lying more or less on his front, but he could feel the warm, even puffs of Draco's breath on the back of his neck. One arm was wrapped tightly around his chest, a leg pressed firmly between his own, cradling his bollocks, a prick flush against his ass.

 

Post-sex cuddling was one thing; it was another altogether to be wrapped up in one another outside of that, though.

 

The second thing he noticed was that he felt _amazing._

 

His bottom was a bit sore, but the ache actually felt pleasant, in a way. He felt well rested for the first time in... ever. Malfoy's body heat actually managed to counteract Harry's chronic freezing, making him feel warm and comfortable in spite of his undress, and the mattress felt no less amazing in the light of day than it did last night. 

 

He really didn't want to leave this bed. He was loathe to wake Malfoy and return to their normal state of barely-checked antagonism. He kind of wanted to try his hand at morning sex. 

 

The third thing he recognised, however, was that it was a lot brighter out than it should have been, and Harry had promised Ginny a date in Hogsmeade at noon. 

 

A mumbled “tempus” informed him that it was already a quarter past. 

 

Harry swore and attempted to untangle himself from Malfoy's limbs.

 

“Fuck!” Malfoy swore blearily. “What the hell, Potter?!”

 

“Sorry!” he called, wrapping the black fur throw-blanket around his waist (holy God, this thing feels amazing. Does Draco have this in real life? Where can he buy one?) to search for his clothes. “I'm late,” he explained as he bent down to pick up his pants.

 

Malfoy pushed himself up on his elbows, watching as Harry stumbled around to reclothe himself. “It's the weekend, what pressing obligations could you possibly have?”

 

Harry shimmied into his trousers and struggled to get his shirt up over his head without unbuttoning it. “I'm going to Hogsmeade with Ginny, but I was supposed to meet her fifteen minutes ago. It's after noon, now,” he responded after he freed his frowzy head from the rumpled dress shirt. 

 

Draco grumbled something unpleasant and probably offensive under his breath and fell back down, flinging his arm over his eyes. Harry turned to frown at him but was distracted by the Dark Mark on such blatant display, then again by the way the blond's hair contrasted messily against the black pillow case, finding the bedhead surprisingly endearing; a thought he quickly repressed. 

 

He looked around frantically for his shoes, before remembering they were by the door. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he called back a quick “See you later, Malfoy!”, to which he received no response as he toed his shoes on and rushed into the seventh floor corridor. 

 

-

 

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all turned to look at him when he tripped through the portrait hole. 

 

“You're late,” Ginny pointed out irritably.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” her brother interrogated, to which Harry spun a tale about accidentally falling asleep in the owlry. 

 

“D'you mind waiting just 10 more minutes?” he begged. “Only, I'm feeling a bit gross.” (True: the feeling of dried cum on his skin was fairly unpleasant.)

 

All three of them glared, unimpressed, and Harry fled with his tail between his legs.

 

\- - -

 

Monday found Harry determined to be a better boyfriend. And in order to do that, he needed to stop obsessing over Malfoy.

 

He did his best to ignore Malfoy in class, sitting with his back to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, and the effort even had him resolutely turning and walking the other way when he saw him in the halls. He didn't realise how often he talked about Malfoy until he made the conscience effort to  _not_ bring him up in conversation. 

 

Somehow this left him without anything to talk about, and Harry resolved to find some other hobbies.

 

-

 

It was harder than he felt it ought to be to replace thoughts of Malfoy with thoughts of Ginny, and he may have been overcompensating in his attentions toward her.

 

Shaking away a wayward musing about the Slytherin boy, Harry leaned over and pressed an apologetic kiss to Ginny's jaw as she sat beside him, reading.

 

She looked at him oddly. “What brought that on?” she asked.

 

“Do I need a reason to kiss you?” he responded, ducking forward to kiss her again before she could start to question his motives.

 

Ginny hummed, relaxing into the kiss, content to let Harry lead, lips parting when his tongue flicked against the seam.

 

The passivity left him off balance, and he looked to his memory for where to go from there. Taking his chin in her hand, he tilted her head and licked into her mouth, lips moving in what he tried and failed not to remember as the the way  _Malfoy_ liked to kiss  _him_ . But Ginny seemed to enjoy it, and she deserved to be kissed well, so Harry powered through the guilt. 

 

When he eventually pulled away, Ginny's freckled cheeks were flushed red with arousal, pupils blown as she heaved. 

 

Harry pushed away the sudden jealousy as he wished  _he_ had been the one kissed like that.

 

(Those thoughts only looped back around to Malfoy, and he wasn't thinking about him.)

 

\- - - 

 

His efforts to ignore Malfoy were done away with by midweek, when he was somehow blind-sided by Malfoy's birthday. (Which is ridiculous; Harry  _knows_ when Malfoy's birthday is. How could he have forgotten?)

 

In the Great Hall at breakfast, Harry noticed that the Slytherin was looking slightly more depressed than usual, though he pasted on a fake smile for the well-wishers.

 

It took Harry a while to realise that no owl had arrived for him that morning. 

 

Every week in first year, Malfoy's mother had sent him a box of French chocolate, which eventually became a tradition on his birthday, the following week marked by the blond sucking on pieces of the decadant sweet every class period until it eventually ran out.

 

Today, no package came. Not even a letter.

 

Harry figured that the older Malfoys were under just as much, if not more stress than Draco was, and couldn't be bothered with something so frivolous, but Harry couldn't help feeling bad for his rival. 

 

Harry watched him the rest of the day, taking in his hunched shoulders and sad, sunken eyes. When his final class of the day ended, he made a break for the Quidditch shed, grabbing his broom, and racing off toward Hogsmeade before Honeydukes closed for the night. 

 

Making it to the shopfront in record times, Harry slipped inside and asked the owner for the familiar brand of chocolate. 

 

The man eyed him warily, no doubt aware that he shouldn´t be off school grounds, but walked around the counter to locate the desired bounty. The man provided several different types of chocolate from that particular manufacturer, but Harry recognised the one Narcissa sent to her son, and pointed it out unerringly, paying from the wallet he dug out of the rucksack still slung over his shoulders.

 

Thanking the man, Harry made his way home, slinking up to the fourth floor into the library where he knew Malfoy liked to spend his time studying, when he wasn't holed away doing God knows what for the Death Eaters (which he didn't slip away to do until after dinner). 

 

Harry tried not to garner any attention as he made his way to Malfoy's table, which was blessedly empty of any other students but the one he was looking for. 

 

The Gryffindor tossed the chocolate haphazardly onto Malfoy's open textbook. The blond jumped, head jerking up to meet Harry's eyes. 

 

“Happy birthday,” Harry offered awkwardly, and Malfoy looked at him incredulously before turning his attention to the large package of chocolate in front of him. 

 

Malfoy's eyes softened as he looked at the sweets in surprised disbelief.

 

“How did you...?” he asked, but Harry was already walking away, pretending not to have heard him.

 

-

 

“Where have you been?” Hermione asked when he finally arrived back at Gryffindor tower.

 

Harry shrugged non-committally. “Nowhere,” he evaded. “I just had to check on something real quick.” Hermione squinted at him suspiciously, but seemed to allow it. They were soon joined Ginny and Ron.

 

“Harry! There you are!” Ginny said seating herself next to him, kissing his cheek in greeting. Harry smiled and they got started on their homework.

 

\- - -

 

The next morning, Malfoy caught his eye and gave him a small smile, quirking his pale eyebrow in thanks.

 

Harry spent the rest of the day in a haze. His pulse raced sporadically and his stomach felt twittery, and eventually he broke down and paid a visit to Madam Pomfrey. 

 

Obviously he was coming down with something.

 

\- - - 

 

Harry shut his bedcurtains and cast a silencing charm, locking the draped for good measure before kicking off his boxer shorts. The outside world was muffled (though not completely silenced, as he was to them, just in case of emergency) and it took little effort to push his dorm-mates bedtime rituals from his mind.

 

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind and took himself in hand, softly stroking without intent, feeling the flesh slowly swell.

 

He brought up pictures of Ginny in his mind.

 

Ginny, with her lips wrapped around him.

 

Ginny, writhing underneath him

 

Ginny, splayed open and wet for him.

 

Harry's was stroking himself quicker now, and his hips bucked up into his fist.

 

He thought of himself fucking her, remembering the way it felt to mount her and have her tight, wet heat engulf him.

 

He remembered looking up into grey eyes and moving his hips to the motion of Malfoy's hand.

 

Harry gasped and a bead of precome pearled at his tip. 

 

Harry remembered the way it felt to have his legs held wide as Malfoy pounded into him.

 

“Fuck,” Harry hissed as his cock twitched, his other hand slipping down beneath his balls to circle his asshole. He murmured a lubrication charm and pushed his middle finger in, no longer stroking himself, just holding his cock against his belly. 

 

One finger quickly turned to two, but Harry tried to banish the thought of Malfoy. Instead, he imagined Ginny between his spread legs with a strap on like he had seen in one of Fred and George's dirty magazines (which they had been providing him and Ron with since third year). 

 

He imagined her small tits bouncing with the motion of her thrusts and the feel of her soft hand stroking in time. 

 

His fist started moving again and the fingers inside him matched the pace.

 

He recalled the feeling of being pumped full of cum; of a warm cock twitching inside him. 

 

His fingertips grazed that spot inside him and he cried out, back arching off the bed as pleasure sparked up his spine.

 

The Ginny in his mind pulled out and moved down his body, holding his cheeks open as she set her lips on his.

 

He thought of looking down and seeing a blond head between his legs, and grey eyes watching as he fell apart.

 

His breath hitched as he came and Harry milked his cock with the image of Malfoy eating him out burned into his retinas. 

 

\- - -

 

Finally, Draco backed away from the vanishing cabinet, still nowhere near done, but it was half eleven and the start of his weekend, and he didn't want to think about or look at this bloody hunk of wood until Monday. Which was poor form, considering his life was on the line, but honestly he didn't think the extra couple of days were going to make him any more productive, and he had mostly resigned himself to failure and inevitable death.

 

So he might as well unwind.

 

Fervently wishing for the Room of Requirement to melt into the familiar comfort of his bedroom, Draco dropped into his chaise and lit up a cigarette, pulling out the box of chocolate he kept on hand.

 

He spaced an indulgent drag of nicotine with a nibble of the decadent chocolate, and by midnight he was actually feeling not-so-terrible. Cigarette burnt out, and several pieces of chocolate later, Potter finally wandered in.

 

Green eyes barely flickered to take in what was now a familiar room (which still tickled Draco greatly, that Potter had required Draco's own bedroom the week before). “Hey,” he greeted, and Draco hummed a reply.

 

“Chocolate?” he held the box out to the Gryffindor who hesitated before toeing his shoes off and walking over to take a piece before sitting himself on the sofa opposite.

 

Draco watched as the brunet popped the square into his mouth, sucking delicately and letting it melt on his tongue.

 

“'S'good,” he slurred impolitely with his mouth full. 

 

“I know. That's why they're my favourite,” Draco agreed. “Which is apparently not news to you. Thanks for that, by the way. How did you know to get these? And _why_?”

 

Potter shrugged, blushing and looking away in embarrassment.

 

“It's common knowledge,” he explained, which, was it really? His house-mates knew, but they lived with him. “Your mother's been sending them to you since first year.”

 

Draco's eyebrows rose. “And you noticed? I mean,” he hurried to amend, “I know you've been stalking me  _this_ year, but I hadn't realised you were made aware of the particular brand of chocolate my mother used to send me, considering she didn't send them this year.”

 

Potter's cheeks darkened further. “I just noticed them, okay?”

 

Draco scoffed. “That still doesn't explain why you got them for me in the first place. 'I thought you hated me',” he reasoned, quoting the Gryffindor's own words back at him.

 

Potter scowled. “I don't  _hate_ you,” he argued. “And even if I did, it's no fun to fight with you when you're all depressed like you were on your birthday. I popped down to Honeydukes, grabbed a box, and gave it to you so you'd stop moping, alright?”

 

The Slytherin nodded. “Uh-huh,” he vocalized before popping another square into his mouth, offering the box to the boy across from him.

 

“So, you want to get started?” he asked eventually, figuring that the time for pleasantries had ended.

 

Potter hesitated and looked down at his lap where he was literally fiddling with his thumbs. “Uhm,” he stuttered, “I don't... really want to, this week,” he claimed eventually. (Seriously?) “Only, I don't have any more questions for you.”

 

Draco's shoulders slumped in disappointment. And this weekend was starting off so well. “So we'll just go back to our houses, then?” he asked.

 

Potter bit his lip and looked up through his lashes. “Well, yeah, I mean, we could. Or we could stay. I told Ron that I was planning to sleep in the Room of Requirement – that the Room had more comfortable beds and I've never really had a room of my own that wasn't terrible, so they're not expecting me back until tomorrow morning. And I wouldn't mind if you stayed, only I get really cold and it was kind of nice sleeping in bed with someone.”

 

_'Harry Potter wants me to fuck him,'_ Draco thought wondrously. Merciful Hecate. 

 

“You wanna head to the bedroom?” he offered tentatively, but Potter nodded in relief and started to his feet. 

 

The two of them made off toward the archway, but Draco caught him and slammed him up against the wall, kissing him furiously. 

 

Potter moaned enthusiastically, lips parting for Draco's bruising lips and tongue, wrapping his arms around the taller boy's shoulders and pulling him in close.

 

Draco pulled a leg up around his hips as he swirled and sucked on the Gryffindor's tongue, and Potter bucked up into him, already half hard in his trousers.

 

He certainly knows how to make a boy feel wanted.

 

The Slytherin guided them toward the open entrance and somehow onto the bed.

 

Potter wasted no time in pulling his shirt off, flinging it across the room. Draco followed suit, licking his lips as the brunet pushed his trousers off his thin, tanned legs before crawling up towards the pillows. Draco had his own trousers and socks off in a matter of seconds before climbing up between the other boy's knees and reclaiming his mouth. 

 

Potter clawed at his back, leaving painful red trails up his shoulder blades, but Draco didn't mind. Instead of protesting, he obligingly pressed closer, holding them flush together and letting them rut against one another. 

 

“Hey,” he pulled away for a moment, ignoring the disappointed whimper from the Gryffindor, “You wanna 69?”

 

Potter's jaw dropped (just a little), and his pupils visibly dilated, leaving nothing but a thin band of green around the edge. “Yeah,” he breathed, nodding in affirmation.

 

Draco grinned and sucked a bruising kiss into the hollow of Potter's neck before shuffling down the bed, pulling the other boy along with him. 

 

“Hey!” Potter squealed as his head fell off the pillow. 

 

“Hush,” Draco admonished, slapping his thigh and making the brunet gasp. The Slytherin smirked and kissed up his tummy before turning onto his side, top leg bent at the knee, foot flat on the mattress, head level with Potter's groin. Potter didn't miss his cue, turning himself in accommodation. Draco groped his arse before petting his thigh and pushing it up, granting better access to his cock which bobbed prettily in front of him.

 

The blond groaned when Potter's hand wrapped around his shaft, heralding the soft, wet heat of his mouth around his head. Draco rewarded the soft suction with a grateful lick, base to tip with the flat of his tongue, causing Potter to keen around his length. The vibrations caused him to shiver and he gave little kitten licks to Potter's tip in response.

 

Draco felt his head hit the back of Potter's throat and he couldn´t help thrusting shallowly into his mouth, his fingers trailing up the crease of the boy's arse.

 

Potter cried out, muffled with Draco's cock in his throat, but encouraged his exploration by wrapping his top leg around Draco's torso, spreading himself as much as he was able.

 

Draco slicked his fingers with silent magic before rubbing his fingers against the tight furl, massaging it as he finally took Harry's cock into his mouth. Harry cried out, moving his hips back against Draco's fingers and forward into his mouth. Draco smacked his arse, but hollowed his cheeks, licking at the shaft in his mouth while Harry moaned around him and bobbed his head.

 

Finally, Draco pushed his fingers in, two at once, but he knew the other boy could handle it, quickly establishing a relentless rhythm. 

 

Harry pulled off. “Ahhhh!” he cried, buring his face in the crease of Draco's groin while Draco's fingers fucked into him.

 

Draco relentlessly rubbed at his prostate, ducking his head down to lave his balls. “Keep sucking, Harry,” he reminded. 

 

The brunet sobbed but obediently guided Draco's cock back into his mouth, taking it down expertly. 

 

He pretty much was an expert by now, after all.

 

Draco licked up Potter's shaft and gave a hard suck to his head before Harry was cumming. Draco drank it down, keeping his fingers on Harry's prostate until he was completely soft and oversensitive in his mouth, whimpering around his cock.

 

Draco pulled away, pushing Harry back onto his back and climbing on top of him.

 

He crawled up and knelt over his chest, pushing back into Harry's mouth, finally able to enjoy the sight of his bruised lips around his length. Draco fisted his hand in Harry's hair, tugging at the curly locks as he fucked the other boy's mouth, Harry taking it without complaint, hands wrapped around Draco's waist.

 

His hips hitched and stuttered and finally he came, moaning loudly as he emptied himself down Potter's welcoming throat.

 

Sighing deeply, Draco unclenched his hand, petting in apology as he heaved himself off, dropping to the side. 

 

Harry followed, rolling over and draping an arm over him. Draco huffed a laugh and hauled the boy back up onto the pillows digging the blankets out from under them.

 

The Gryffindor grunted at the manhandling. “You know you could just  _ask_ me to move,” he complained hoarsely (Draco wanted to get used to that sound). 

 

“I could,” he allowed, “but I shan't.” To prove his point he wriggled, making himself comfortable before physically pulling Potter on top of him, wrapping an arm around his back. 

 

Potter retaliated by biting his nipple, to which Draco responded by spanking him, again (which, by this point, Draco understood was actually less of a punishment than he originally intended, since Harry seemed to like it). He didn't move, though. Instead, he sighed deeply and laid his cheek comfortably on Draco's chest.

 

Harry passed out almost immediately, and as Draco pushed his fingers through Harry's soft, unruly hair, he thought that if he  _was_ going to die at the end of the year, at least his life wouldn't have been  _completely_ full of regret. 

 

So far his seventeenth year wasn't too bad at all.

 


	9. Make Me Feel Like Someone Else

Harry kissed Ginny good night, watching as she ascended the steps to the girls' dormitory. Ron had already gone up to their dorm and the Gryffindor common room was empty this late at night as he snuck quietly out the portrait hole.

 

Ron already knew not to expect him, as Harry had taken to sleeping in the Room of Requirement at night, ostensibly for the peace and quiet (for both him and his dorm-mates; his nightmares still plague him occasionally, and he can never remember to cast a silencing charm on his curtains), but truthfully to ease the suspicion of his nights out with Malfoy, in case they don't make it back to their Houses afterwards. Either way it was actually rather comfortable, and Harry had gotten used to Malfoy's rooms, with its massive bed and gloriously private en-suite.

 

He hadn't bothered to tell Ginny about his new sleeping arrangements.

 

Guilt plagued him, as it had for the last week or so, to be honest, and he rubbed at the tension in his shoulders as he deposited his rucksack by the door and toed off his shoes before padding his way to the bedroom, dropping face first onto the mattress.  
  
He didn't know what was wrong.

 

He knew this thing with Malfoy had gotten out of hand, but he didn't know what to do about it, and it had started to affect his relationship with Ginny.

 

In the beginning, the whole thing felt like... an obligation. Like, any other thing Harry'd had to do for the sake of this war. It was business, not pleasure. It had nothing to do with his relationship with Ginny, because he _liked_ Ginny. He _fancied_ Ginny; wanted to _be_ with her. He didn't want to be with Malfoy. He just wanted to get him off so he'd give him the information he wanted.

 

Except that Malfoy hadn't told him _anything_ for the last few weeks.

 

Except that the information he _had_ gotten was almost completely unrelated to the upcoming war and was, essentially no help. He had no more or less information about the Dark side than when he'd started, no further clues into Malfoy's task.

 

And yet, once a week without fail, Harry would disappear from his bed and meet up with him in the Room of Requirement for sex, and Harry had nothing to show for it, nothing to gain from it but the dubious pleasure of shagging Malfoy.

 

The whole thing felt _wrong_ now, and it wasn't fair to Ginny. He knew he loved Ginny; felt it in his heart that it was true. And he _didn't_ love Malfoy, but every day without fail his mind turned to the blond git. His eyes, his attention strayed from Ginny to the other boy in a way that he knew was wrong and Harry just didn't understand _why_.

 

He didn't know what to do about it.

 

He didn't want to hurt Ginny, who was innocent in this whole matter. He didn't know if he should break up with her, and if so why. He couldn't very well tell her about the whole situation with Malfoy; she'd never understand his reasons (which now sounded less than genuine at best, and at worse like an outright lie, to both Ginny and himself). He couldn't tell her that he didn't love her any more because that wasn't true, either.

 

He didn't want to tell her that he could only get off at night when he had three fingers shoved up his arse, and the image of a hard body holding him down making him take it bright in his mind's eye.

 

He didn't think he was gay. He'd never thought of other blokes that way before; never thought of _Malfoy_ that way before, and he'd tried to imagine it, replace the Slytherin in his mind with one of his interchangeable house-mates, but inevitably his mind turned back to Draco, like it did all the time anyway, so that wasn't a definitive answer, and anyway he couldn't be gay, because he loved Ginny. He'd fucked Ginny, and it was good! Great, even!

 

They'd had sex twice since that day under the bleachers, and though Harry'd been afraid he wouldn't enjoy it any more (going by his masturbatory habits), it'd been fine. Harry got off and Ginny'd got off; even if it wasn't perfect.

 

Kissing was still nice, as well.

 

Though that was part of the problem, he thought.

 

Kissing Ginny was _nice_ but it didn't make him feverish, didn't blank his mind and turn him on like kissing Malfoy did, no matter how hot and heavy he and Ginny sometimes got.

 

The love bites he left on Ginny's pale and freckled cleavage didn't leave him with the same sense of _satisfaction_ he got when he looked at Malfoy's claims, still dark under their glamours after being renewed, like Malfoy was afraid to let them fade.

 

Even now, Harry blushed as he prods at them with his fingers, revelling in the dull ache.

 

He didn't know what about them he liked so much, what set these bruises apart from every other bruise and love bite.

 

They were undeniably possessive, but he wasn't sure Ginny (the marks _had_ been hers, originally) meant it that way, so much as she had just wanted to... explore. Not like Malfoy, who treated the bruises like a brand, or a collar claiming Harry for his own, like Harry was something to be conquered and taken.

 

Still Harry couldn't bring himself to heal them. He couldn't deny that he _liked_ the idea of being wanted enough that someone would stake possession of him. That he could be fought for even when he was already there, and be left reminders when he wasn't. Maybe it was just a lingering insecurity on his part, but Harry _liked_ the reminders, though they both knew that Harry didn't, would never _belong_ to Malfoy, especially when he was already with Ginny.

 

Still, Ginny took it for granted that Harry was hers. Ginny didn't fight to take what she wanted, like Malfoy did. She didn't take the lead when Harry didn't do something the way she liked, or demand his attention when he was caught up in his own head.

 

Harry _liked_ how forceful and demanding Malfoy was, though logically he thought he should be angered and annoyed by that, should think him a spoilt, controlling prick. But the truth was that those actions _reassured_ him in a way he didn't quite understand. Like if Malfoy _wasn't_ demanding of him, if he _didn't_ take Harry into his own hands, then...

 

It was almost like he wasn't there at all.

 

It wasn't The Boy Who Lived who bore these bruises, it was _Harry_.

 

He didn't know how he knew, but Malfoy didn't see him as that celebrity persona that the public seemed to think of him as. Malfoy didn't have any expectations set for him, except that Harry show up on time and follow his directions. Malfoy wasn't surprised or disappointed by anything Harry did because he didn't expect Harry to be anything other than what he was.

 

Harry wasn't going to disappoint Malfoy, because Malfoy was the one calling all the shots. Harry couldn't do anything wrong if he was doing exactly as he was told. It wasn't like with the Dursleys, who were disappointed with Harry no matter what he did, or like his “fans”, who would always be disenchanted when they realised that he wasn't up to the standards they held him to, or who refused to see his failures at all like nothing he did even _mattered_.

 

It wasn't like with Ginny who didn't tell him what she wanted from him.

 

Ginny was so strong and capable and assertive, and she took what she wanted, except that she wouldn't actually _take_ what she wanted from him.

 

When they'd had sex, he'd followed her lead but it wasn't what she wanted. He'd tried to make her feel good, and she turned it back on him, like that _wasn't_ the whole point of everything. It wasn't as if Harry had been held against his will, of course he'd gotten satisfaction out of pleasing his girlfriend, but Ginny had wanted more from him and Harry didn't know how to give it to her.

 

She says she wants him to “take what he wants”, but when Ginny let _him_ take the lead, he can practically feel her dissatisfaction when he doesn't do what she wanted, like nothing he did was enough for her.

 

He knew that he wasn't doing right by Ginny by drawing out this thing with Malfoy, that he wasn't giving her the attention she deserved (though in his defence, he does have a lot on his plate right now), but even when he _was_ he couldn't be what she wanted him to be.

 

He didn't know what to do about it.

 

He sighed and cast a Tempus charm which showed it to be a quarter after midnight.

 

The Gryffindor frowned curiously. It was unusual for Malfoy to be so late. He half wished the other boy didn't show, but school was ending in a week anyway and anything between them would be well and truly over by then, so Harry saw no further harm in meeting the Slytherin one last time. In for a penny, and all that.

 

When everything was done and over with, maybe Harry could fix this thing with Ginny.

 

In the meantime, Harry rolled off the bed and wandered back out into the sitting room, digging through his bag for the Marauders' Map.

 

Pulling out the blank, yellowed parchment, the Gryffindor pressed his wand-tip to the folded crease and recited the pass-phrase and watched the ink bleed into existence before unfolding the map. As late as it was, most everyone was in bed, few dots straying from the clusters of the dorms. Harry's eyes tracked the movement of Filch and Mrs. Norris' footprints (and paw-prints, respectively), stalking down the kitchen corridor in the basement, catching a group of what appeared to be Hufflepuffs (he recognised Annabel Entwhistle's name, anyway, and vaguely recalled being surprised to learn that Kevin's sister had been sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Ravenclaw like her sibling), and sending them scurrying back into their dorms.

 

As Filch and his cat moved on, Harry resumed scrying the page until he found Malfoy tucked away in the prefect's bathroom. Huffing, he rolled his eyes. Who takes a bath at midnight? And Malfoy gets on his arse for being a few minutes late.

 

Keeping watch on Filch's progress through the castle, Harry slipped out of the Room and padded barefoot down to the fifth floor.

 

*

 

He'd been here for over an hour now, but he couldn't bring himself to get out.

 

Draco wrapped his arms around his legs, bringing his chin down to rest on his knees, the water, charmed and steaming even after all this time, comes up to just under his nose.

 

It would be nothing to just slip under.

 

Surely his parents couldn't be punished if he died before completing his task? People die all the time, they'll say it was an accident – that he tripped and hit his head while he was bathing, nothing to be done for it. That way it wouldn't be his fault. Wouldn't be his father's fault. There'd be nothing to punish them for.

 

And wouldn't it be better for everyone if he weren't there to fuck things up?

 

Better for Dumbledore, certainly. Better for the school if the cabinet stays broken and the Death Eaters stay _out_.

 

Though, to be fair, nobody's getting in through that bloody cabinet anyway, because there's no way Draco is going to be able to fix it on time.

 

School ends on the twenty-third and it's already the fourteenth. He has barely over a week to do what he hasn't been able to do in nine months. It's not going to happen.

 

He's already failed.

 

He's living on borrowed time at this point – not that he hasn't all year long, anyway, but it's one thing to have the threat hanging above ones head and quite another to know that in a fortnight's time he--

 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging his eyes as his pulse races in his ears. He knew that if he weren't already sitting, he'd have fallen. His hands shook when he pushed them into his wet hair, sitting up to ease the pressure on his diaphragm so he could catch his breath, but he _couldn't_.

 

He felt like the world is crashing down around him, literally. Like the whole of the atmosphere was smothering him, suffocating him, and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears and his desperate, heaving breaths, (fat lot of good they're doing him, because he still couldn´t _breathe_ ) and he thought his heart might actually explode, judging from how tight his chest was. Irrationally, through the haze of panic, he wondered if it would be the heart attack or the suffocation that did him in, and how ironic it would be that he'll die in the bath _before_ he gets the chance to drown himself.

 

He didn't know how long he sat in limbo, feeling like he was dying with his chest burning and his scalp likely bloody from how hard he was digging his nails in, but at some point things got quiet again. He could still hear his heart beating in his chest, but it _was_ in his chest now, and not pounding on his eardrums. His lips were tingling with too much oxygen and he gasped, breath catching, finally, and he exhaled on a sob and then he couldn't seem to stop.

 

He had never been a loud crier, but his whole body shook, trembling, and the tension cramped his stomach. He moaned, wailing but the sound is false, like he's crying for attention and there's nobody around to act for, no one he wants to pay attention to him now of all times, and the effort gave him no relief, but there's so much fear and fucking _despair_ pent up inside him, a year's worth, and the crying's just not enough, honestly he just wanted to scream until his throat was bloody, or his voice died, whichever comes first.

 

His eyes were clenched too tight and it was giving him a headache, and this crying lark wasn't cathartic at all, no matter what the Hufflepuffs will tell you. It wasn't relieving the stress he'd been carrying all year, nor the fear that still sat heavily in his stomach.

 

Draco held his breath, tried to cease the onslaught of tears because he's too depressed even for this. The bath was no longer comforting, and he knows that he's too much of a fucking coward to actually kill himself, so he wipes the tears from his red eyes, blinking them away to try to clear his vision and hiccoughing, heaves himself up out of the water because he needs a bloody drink.

 

*

 

Harry checked the map to make sure the coast was clear, looking both ways down the corridor just in case, then shrugged off the cloak and stuffed the map into the pocket of his trousers. Then, whispering the password to the Prefect's Bathroom, he went inside, angrily searching for the Slytherin who´d stood him up.

 

And then he found him.

 

Sat in the bath, both arms stretched along the top steps of the tub, a half empty handle of firewhiskey in one hand, cork nowhere to be seen. In the other hand, a forgotten cigarette, dripping ash onto a well-established mound of ash and filters.

 

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, bemused concern churning in his stomach.

 

The blond lolled his head back, head turning bonelessly to glance behind him, and ice trickled down Harry's veins at the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks, looking so reminiscent of that day so many weeks ago that the Gryffindor nearly flinched. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and a sloppy smirk graced his face as he slurred his greeting.

 

“'lo, Darling,” he drawled flirtatiously, pulling a drag off his cigarette. He leaned his head back to exhale then drunkenly laid his head down on the tile, peering up at Harry from upside-down. “'Ave you come f'ra bath s'well?” He asked, blinking up at him sluggishly.

 

“Um,” Harry answered vaguely, blushing at the endearment and unsure how to handle the situation. “No, I- I was looking for you. We had a, um. We were supposed to meet up at midnight. It's, uh, almost half past now. I was worried.” He winced, thankful that Malfoy wasn't sober to witness that particular display of eloquency.

 

“Oh,” Draco's eyes were wide, his lips rounded in a perfect little circle. “'M sorry, Haarrry, I forgot. D'you want me to suck you off?” The blond sounded so earnestly sorrowful that Harry almost said yes, if only just to make the boy feel better, but decided against it.

 

“No, that's okay, Draco. I´m good. Um. Are you... okay?” He awkwardly reached up to scratch his neck, the hair on his nape curling up frizzly in the damp humidity. God, he could barely handle his own emotions, let alone someone else's. He desperately wanted to avoid what happened last time he'd caught Draco in a vulnerable position, but somehow more than the underlying fear of starting a fight and breaking their fragile truce, he was simply uncomfortable seeing the Slytherin in such a position in the first place. Draco's arrogant, self-assured confidence, annoying as it was, was one of the few consistencies in Harry's life that he could count on, and to see him so out of sorts...

 

His discomfort and worry only grew as Draco let out an hysterical giggle. “Am I _okay?!_ ” he repeated incredulously. “Do I fucking _look_ okay? I'm-” he pushed himself back up, waving erratically as if to encompass the entire situation, unable to form the right words.

 

Harry bit his lip, flinching at the outburst. “No, you don't,” he conceded. “Sorry, I just-” he sighed, carefully approaching the volatile boy who was now looking irritably over his shoulder at him. “What's wrong?” he asked, trying to call on his inner-Hermione as he sat on the floor beside the blond.

 

Draco scoffed. “What's not wrong? 've got a week to- you know- 'n' so either I fail'n he kills me, or I succeed an' I'll deserve it. So'm damned if I do and damned'f I don't, aren't I? Either way I'm not coming out of this war alive.” He sighed, sliding closer and laying his head on Harry's knee, his wet hair dampening his trousers. “Neither one of us are.”

 

Harry's heart stopped. What did Draco know...? “Why do you say that?” he asked cautiously, hand stroking Draco's soft hair, already drying messily.

 

Draco curled his fingers around Harry's ankle. “Cos nobody puts a teenager on the front lines if they want them to survive. We're too young, Harry. We dunno what the fuck we're doing. There's no way anyone could expect us to make it out alive. They're setting us up for failure. S'why it doesn't matter what side we're on. Doesn't matter that you're the fucking in- inca- _poster boy_ of the 'Light' side, or whatever the fuck, or that I'm a fucking Death Eater,” he waved his bare arm, “cos neither one of us is meant to fucking survive this fucking war, so who the fuck even _cares_ what side we're on?”

 

Harry's breath was coming in harder, because drunken rant or not, he wasn't _wrong_. Harry wasn't exactly expecting to come out the other side of this.

 

Still...

 

“You don't know that,” Harry denied desperately, but Draco just looked at him pityingly, expression soft and fond in a way the Gryffindor had never seen.

 

Draco sat up fully, skin steaming in the cooler air as he fit his palm to Harry's cheek, tugging him closer. He pressed his forehead against Harry's temple, knocking into him harder than he probably intended, but Harry didn't complain, his nose nuzzling under Harry's ear.

 

“I don't want you to die, Harry.”

 

His breath was soft and warm against Harry's jaw, his words barely audible. Harry could smell the smoke and whiskey on his breath but he didn't mind. His eyes burned and he squeezed them shut, hand squeezing Draco's wrist like a vice. He shook his head, but didn't elaborate on what he was refusing.

 

He didn't know.

 

The whole situation, probably.

 

He didn't want Draco to die either.

 

“Harry?” Draco mumbled into his skin.

 

“Yeah?” Harry answered.

 

Draco turn Harry's face toward him, bumping their noses together. “Make me feel like someone else.”

 

Harry nodded, 'cause, yeah, his head still moving even as he pressed his lips to Draco's, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, scrabbling to bring him closer still. Draco licked into his mouth, thumb stroking Harry's cheek. He messily kissed down Harry's neck, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

 

“Take this off,” he demanded without removing his mouth, and Harry obeyed eagerly, knocking Draco's hands away to loosen his tie and attack the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders before tugging off his trainers.

 

Draco smoothed a soft hand (where were his broom callouses?!) up Harry's ribs, and Harry moaned.

 

“Where're your bruises?” Draco asked, brow furrowing as he noticed the brunets pristine throat, bare of the marks he'd worked so hard not to let fade these past few weeks.

 

“What?” Harry asked breathlessly, confused before realising what the problem was. “Oh,” he said, reaching for his wand to take down the glamours he'd carefully cast on himself each morning. The hickies were fading to yellow in the centres, the vivid purple ringed around the edges. They no longer smarted when he pressed on them, but he liked to look at them in the mornings before glamouring them, careful not to acknowledge to himself why he refused to let them heal.

 

“Oh, there they are,” Draco sighed happily, pressing sweet, soft kisses to the topmost bruise before latching onto it and bringing the blood back to the surface.

 

“Don't get rid of them,” he pleaded, nipping Harry's jugular with his teeth.

 

“I won't,” Harry promised, and he wouldn't, hadn't yet.

 

“Mine,” Draco claimed possessively, and though Harry wasn't sure whether he was referring to the hickies or to Harry himself, the Gryffindor agreed.

 

“Yours,” Harry surrendered.

 

If this was all going to end in a week, he might as well make the most of it.

 

“Draco,” Harry moaned, trying to get the blond's attention. “Draco, wait, wait!” he pushed the other boy away, and Draco snarled.

 

“What?!”

 

“Shh,” Harry kissed him quellingly. “Lemme get my trousers off,” he explained, and Draco blinked before his eyes widened in comprehension.

 

Draco nodded and Harry scrabbled to his feet, not even bothering to unfasten his fly, just tugging his trousers down his skinny hips, peeling his socks off as he let the fabric pool at his feet. Rather than sitting back down, the Gryffindor stepped into the charmed, warm water. He stepped over Draco's legs before falling to his knees, straddling the blond and seating himself into his lap.

 

The Slytherin growled hungrily and squeezed Harry's ass, pulling them flush. Neither of them were hard yet, but Harry could feel himself fattening and he rutted into Draco's soft length, reaching one hand down to tug it to fullness as Draco claimed his mouth again.

 

Harry's tongue moved to the rhythm of his hips, rocking in desperate pulses, wrapping his hand around them both.

 

Draco reached one hand down, sliding his fingers into the crease of Harry's ass, two pruned fingertips rubbing at the tight furl of his hole.

 

Harry groaned, pushing back against the probing digits which never dipped inside. Draco just kept up the maddening, external massage, teasing the Gryffindor ad insaniam.

 

“Draco, are you gonna fuck me or not?” the brunet demanded, mouth smearing along Draco's jaw as his tongue dipped and tasted the sweat and bath water that dotted his skin.

 

“Hmmmm,” the other hummed, nosing into Harry's curls, “d'you want me to?”

 

Harry groaned, cock thick and throbbing now, hard as it slid wetly along Draco's own length. “Yes!” he hissed desperately, canting his hips back, chasing the sweet pressure of the blond's fingers as they teased his rim.

 

“Say it,” Draco growled.

 

“Fuck me, Draco!” the Slytherin nipped his ear.

 

“Say that you want it.”

 

Harry raised his head, glared into Draco's hazy grey eyes, more focused now than they were before. “I want you,” he intoned deliberately, “to _fuck_ me.” He rutted up against the other boy as he spoke, drawing a choked moan out of Draco's throat.

 

“Again,” the blond nearly begged.

 

“I _want_ you-!” Draco inhaled, clenching his eyes shut as his fingers dug into Harry's hips, and the Gryffindor caught on. Harry leaned in closer, nuzzling his nose along Draco's.

 

“I want you, Draco,” he said softly, words breaking with lust and emotion. “Please.”

 

The words tipped him over, and Draco slicked his hand wandlessly (and Harry had to wonder just how often the other boy wanked that that bit of wandless, non-verbal magic came to him effortlessly in spite of how drunk he still was) and delved two of his long fingers into Harry's tight channel.

 

Harry gasped, choking out a cry as Draco opened him up too much too fast, but the Gryffindor wasn't about to complain, not when Draco was licking back into his mouth, free hand roaming his body nearly reverently as a third finger insinuated itself into his hole.

 

Too soon for Harry's actual comfort, but not nearly quickly enough, Draco reached down to stroke himself, spreading the slick along his shaft before positioning himself at Harry's opening.

 

After a few false starts, Draco's alcohol-ridden mind having lost some of it's fine motor skills, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

 

“Let me,” he offers, pushing up on his knees and reaching back to take hold of Draco's prick. He wrapped his fingers around Draco's own, both of them holding him in place as Harry sank down onto it, drawing two simultaneous moans as Harry engulfed him.

 

Harry pulled his arm back, wrapping it around Draco's shoulders for leverage, Draco's fingers staying between his crack, feeling around the place where they're connected. The blond makes no effort to take control, but Harry is actually confident this time that he knows exactly how Draco likes it, and with that the brunet heaves himself back up before dropping down, feeling each millimetre of friction inside him, his eyelashes fluttering with the sensation. Draco's mouth opens on a shallow gasp. He never breaks contact with Harry's eyes, silver boring into green, and Harry can't look away, couldn't even if he wanted to.

 

From his position, Harry wasn't able to find the pace that Draco usually set during their trysts, instead settling for quick, shallow rocking, but Draco didn't seem to mind. Instead, the Slytherin pulled him closer, Harry's cock rubbing wetly against Draco's soft belly, forehead against Draco's as they panted into each other's mouths.

 

It was overwhelming like this, unable to lose himself to the feel of Draco inside him, too focused on the boy himself.

 

“Say it again,” Draco whispered against his lips.

 

“I want you,” Harry obliged, and he wasn't just humouring the other boy. Though Harry wasn't yet ready to sort out his feelings on the subject; may never get the chance to later for it to matter, right then, at that moment, there wasn't anywhere else Harry wanted to be, nor anyone else he wanted to be with.

 

“ _Draco_ ,” he whimpered, and Draco finally joined him, squaring his feet on the stone floor of the basin and thrusting upward, meeting Harry as he moved back.

 

Soon, that wasn't enough, and Harry raised himself up, wrapping his arms tightly around Draco's neck as he held himself flush, hiding his face in Draco's messy hair as Draco pounded up into him.

 

Harry nearly missed his own orgasm. It hit him gently, and though he released he felt no need to stop, happy then to continue on as long as Draco needed him. The Gryffindor nosed down Draco's temple, kissing beneath his sweaty fringe and down his sharp cheekbone (the boy _was_ pointy, but not, Harry acknowledged privately, in an unattractive way).

 

“Come for me,” Harry said. “Come in me, please,” he murmured against the boy's pale skin, flushed though it was with drink, sex, and emotion.

 

Draco gasped quietly and buried his face in Harry's shoulder, shaking as he came, holding Harry down while he ground upward, coming as deeply in Harry's body as he was able, like he was trying to imprint himself into the Gryffindor's very blood.

 

Harry was pleased by that thought in a way he couldn't explain.

 

They didn't move for a long while, Harry revelling in the feeling of being full; of being held. Revelled in bringing Draco such comfort in turn as he rubbed his fingers up and down Draco's back, slick with sweat and water.

 

“We should get out,” Harry muttered eventually, sleepily. “We´re going to get all pruny.”

 

Draco sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed weakly, but made no effort to move. Rather, he squeezed the brunet tighter to him, not yet ready to let it all go.

 

School was ending in a week. When they left this bath they'd go on their own ways back into the real world as it hung on the precipice of war. There'd be no more time to hide together in quiet and comfort; no more time to press himself into every poor of Harry Potter's body so that he never faded.

 

In a week Dumbledore will die or else he will, and either way, Draco's not coming out of this war in tact. He expects that Harry won't either. Thinks, perhaps, that none of them will, really.

 

This is their last tryst before the end of the world.

 

Draco buried his nose in the slick curve of Harry's neck, pressing a kiss to his warm skin.

 

In the mean time, the water's warm, and they could wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!! Sorry it took 13 months to update - I actually have reasons (more like excuses really) which include me being actually busy, having to rewrite this chapter a couple different times in order for it to come out somewhat satisfactorily, and general distaste with my laptop - but which all really just boil down to me having no sense of time management, so. Sorry. 
> 
> It really was incredibly difficult to get this chapter to where I wanted it, and I'm still not really satisfied, but I had to get something out to you. You'll notice that I brought the chapter count down to 9 instead of 10, and that's because this is the last chapter, and chapter 10 was always meant to be an epilogue. I do still intend to write the epilogue, but, we'll see. In either case, the actual story is complete as it is. It's a monumental moment for me, let me tell you.
> 
> Another reason why I had so much trouble writing this was because I have actually been planning the sequel, which is shaping up to be less porn-with-incidental-plot and more angst. I'm psyched about it tbh.
> 
> Let me know what you think and please tell me if there are issues with grammar, spelling, or characterization. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who continued to read and comment and push me off my ass, I really owe it all to you!
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by the song [All To Myself by Marianas Trench](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=266ukzV5loc), which I felt was a pretty good theme song for this fic in general.


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